


Shattered Identities

by Kittryn



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham Asylum (Video Games)
Genre: After Arkham City, Arkham Asylum, Blood, Death, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Explosions, Gore, Graphic Description, Homicidal Tendencies, Insanity, Lots of explosions, M/M, Multichapter, Romance, Slash, Slow Build, Spoliers: Arkham Game Line, Violence, Yaoi, mindfucks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 142,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2361071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittryn/pseuds/Kittryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Joker finally decides to crash one of Bruce's parties and no one knows as well as Batman how to catch the madman's attention. Bruce just never thought he'd use it without the mask to save lives. Unfortunately for him once you've got the Clown's attention you never lose it and the last thing Batman needs is a madman whispering in his ear while a new villain is trying to up end his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fall

I got a beta! HORAY! Thank you Eve! All chapters will be updated... I hope. :P

Shattered Identities

Chapter 1

The Fall

Arkham Asylum was just as run down and rotten as the last time Bruce had “visited”. Its only redeeming factor being the newly-installed, high-tech security measures whirling away around him, the soft drone and buzz of electric doors, the subtle sound of swiveling cameras. The last time he had been here had been… different. Despite the absolute chaos that had been running rampant at the time, the place had almost felt more controlled, or at least he had. It all came down to the fact that, right now, dressed simply, in his crisp button-up shirt, and slick, tailored suit, he felt naked, exposed and vulnerable in ways he loathed. It couldn't be avoided though, he had to know, had to make sure. And now he had the excuse he hadn’t even realized he needed, let alone wanted. 

It had been a long week; to be honest it had been a long month. The Joker had, once again, escaped the re-established island of Arkham Asylum. Although Arkham City had been dismantled months ago, some of Gotham’s filth and degenerates still inhabited the dilapidated ruins. It had taken Bruce weeks to track down the more dangerous inmates, several of which still managing to elude him, lost in the chaos that had ensued that night. The Joker, obviously wasn't one of them. But of course, nothing good stays that way for long in Gotham.

The week it occurred had been relatively quiet for Batman, and yet for Bruce Wayne it had been a complete mess, taxing in ways he was vastly unfamiliar with. 

He had a party. Actually had to throw one himself, as Alfred had come down with the flu. While Alfred’s tasks for such an event were usually quite straightforward, consisting of making a few calls, bringing in a team of professionals and simply letting them to do their thing. It seemed as though when Bruce attempted it, however, everything went straight to hell. Half way through preparation, the decorator feel ill. The DJ they had hired was shot by his girlfriend twelve hours before the party and was hospitalized. The shipment of wine ordered a month in advance never arrived, having been snowed in or something equally ridiculous, and the list went on, one irritating call after another from his panicking employees. Bruce was about ready to tear his hair out before the party had even commenced and as the first pompous, rich man shook his hand, Bruce confirmed his preference: he'd rather be out keeping the streets of Gotham clean, maybe even punching in a few criminals faces, then mingling with haughty Gothamites. But, in spite of the impromptu efforts, things seemed to be running smoothly. So far.

Bruce found himself crowded by a circle of Gotham’s richest. A blonde actress clutching his arm a little too tightly, her pastel pink dress clashing horribly with his burgundy tie. Apparently they didn't get the same wardrobe memo, off pink wasn't easy to pinpoint. The men and women around him talked non-stop, their own dates hanging off of them, laughing at their own perverse jokes and playful jargon. Bruce would give anything to leave this party; unfortunately Alfred was still sick, thus preventing Bruce from pawning his host duties onto the man. He snatched up a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, almost downing the whole thing in one swig. His date gave him a delicate side-glance at the action, her well-groomed brows furrowed in annoyance. He gave her a tight smile, taking a deep meditative breath when the unmistakable sound of gunshots shattered through the chatter and music, utter silence immediately falling over the gathering. 

The jarring sound stopped Bruce’s heart, his body instantly pumping with adrenaline. Everyone around him dropped to the ground in sheer panic, his arm jerked down by his date as she ducked with the rest of the crowd. The force of it would have easily toppled a weaker man. Bruce spun around, searching for the cause of the violent outbreak while attempting to wrestle his jacket sleeve out of the woman's terrified clutch. Her incessant tugging an immense irritation to his alert senses. 

His brain quickly filtered through the possibilities that could have allowed this to happen; how the hell had weapons made their way into his party? He was always meticulous about security. Wracking his brain, his rapid thoughts paused on the call he had received this morning about a change in his head of security. His usual man had come down with the flu, so he went with the highly recommended alternative. This attack had obviously had been planned though, and Bruce wondered if Peter was really sick or if he had been murdered. Unfortunately, the latter was the more likely option. Around the room, armed men stepped forward dressed in the server's uniforms, their faces obscured by contorted clown masks. A goon was located at each exit, preventing any attempt to escape. 

Bruce swallowed hard. Out of all the madmen in the city it had to be the one he couldn't bargain with.

“Bruce!” his date hissed from beside him, “Get down!" At the sound of his name the billionaire was reminded just who he was at that moment. Right now he was Bruce Wayne, not Batman. Steadily, he raised his hands in surrender and lowered himself to his knees, acutely aware of the hench-clown stalking towards him from behind. One of the men from the crowd stood up, his head bowed, back turned to the billionaire. Slowly, his large black coat was slipped off to reveal a signature purple suit. A brown wig was pulled away and green hair shaken out leisurely, as if in slow motion. A purple glove coming up and carding through his hair in a failed attempt to tame his unruly locks. Finally he moved, turning around in a lazy, sensual, predatory manner. The Joker’s eyes met Bruce’s and a wide grin spilled across his scarred lips. Bruce froze, half way to the floor as vibrant green eyes locked onto him.

“Sit down, pretty boy,” the Joker crooned suggestively, his voice reverberating around the silent room, machine gun cocked over his shoulder, aiming carelessly at the people behind him. Bruce knelt down with the rest of the Gothamites, feeling just as vulnerable as they did, but entirely more useless as the Joker clicked his tongue.

“What a bee-ee-ay-oo-tiful group of people we have here!” he enunciated, moving to dance through the room, stepping over the cowering men and women too frightened to scamper away from his passing boots, carelessly crushing the hands of those too slow or too afraid to move. The Joker swung his gun around mindlessly, pointing it randomly at people, eliciting gasps and whimpers from the crowd. They had all seen the last party; they knew the Clown Prince of Crime killed at the drop of a hat. The Joker joyfully mocked them as he went.

"Love the dress."

"Who's your tailor?"

"You sell your kid for those earrings?"

"How many puppies did you need for that coat? Mine took sixteen, pure bred of course, only the best for me, myself and I."

“I wanted to look like you once. So I cut this girl's face off. Best Halloween ever,” the Joker taunted, skipping through the crowd. Bruce's heart sank as the Joker danced closer and closer, with every swaggering step, surely and steadily diminishing his chances of slipping out undetected. The clowns he could fool, the Joker was a different story. With a pivot of finality, the Joker came to a stop in front of Bruce, his coattail slapping the billionaire in the face as he gave the crowd a little twirl. Bruce knew it would be impossible to leave now; it appeared he was to be the Joker’s main entertainment for the night, the focal point of his attack. The Joker paused abruptly mid spin as if frozen in time, he snarled at the people within close proximity and they darted and scurried away hastily, shrieks and wails of terror accompanying the movement, allowing the slim man plenty of leg room. Cackling laughter echoed through the quiet hall, the crowd gazing on in horror.

"Didn't even have to say boo!" the Joker snapped, leaning into Bruce's personal space. Bruce realized too late that his startled reaction was a second too slow for someone truly afraid. Everyone had already cowered away from the clown by the time he had done the same. The Joker frowned, pursed his lips and hummed, leaning forward, his face barely inches from Bruce's, eyes calculating. Bruce avoided eye contact at all costs, playing the quivering socialite, knowing that even one more slip would give him away. The Joker would figure it out.

“Loooovely party you have here, Brucey babe!” he began, “I’m sur-prised! You pulled it together so well, considering all the trouble I went through to put a little, uh, chaos. In your life," the madman giggled, his voice easily projected through the entire hall, along with his accompanying, maniacal laughter. Bruce worked to quell the glare that threatened his feigned frightened features. So the Joker had been responsible. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Alfred never gets sick, it was a shock he ever contracted the virus in the first place. Bruce should have known. Damn it, he should have known. The Joker began to applaud, leather gloves slapping against each other with a muffled clap as he straightened. 

"Well done!" The architect of anarchy turned his back on Bruce, who had to resist the impulse to attack the madman. Knowing that even if he did manage to get the Joker in a headlock and divest him of his weapon, he would still be left wide open to any other attacks from the various henchmen scattered throughout the room. The Clown Prince slunk away from him, taking any thoughts of saving the situation with him.

"How is everyone enjoying the party so far, hmm?" the Joker's smile quickly slipped off his face when the crowd remained silent, only muffled sobs audible over the henchmen’s heavy breathing. "I asked you a question doll," the madman said darkly, cocking the machine gun on his hip, pointing the barrel at a woman's horrified face.

"Please," The woman sobbed desperately, and the Joker sneered in disappointment, finger tightening on the trigger.

"Boring,” he sighed, dragging out the word, just about ready to blow the woman's head clean off, maybe even taking out few others in the spray.

"Don't," Bruce called out garnering gasps from more than just his terror stricken date. The Joker froze, his attention zeroing in on the chiseled billionaire. Red lips pulled into a smirk, white face tilted curiously, strands of green hair plastered down with greasepaint. "All beauty and brawn, huh?" the Joker chuckled, walking back towards the playboy. Relief and dread warred inside the man as the clown approached him, placing the tip of his machine gun under Bruce's defined chin and tilted his face up, exposing his throat. Bruce fought the urge to meet the Joker's mad eyes.

"How about you, cupcake, enjoying your party so far?" the smaller man stage whispered, leaning in close. Bruce knew he needed to say something in response, but was unsure of what; the cold press of metal a threatening reminder against his skin. The Joker's finger tightened dangerously on the trigger a disappointed look on his face.

"A blast," Bruce let the words tumble quietly across his lips, barely audible to his own ears, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he tried to swallow, neck tilted at an awkward angle. Slowly, the Joker's finger eased off the trigger. Surprised, Bruce looked up, against his better judgment, meeting the madman’s laughing, vivid green eyes. Eyes that ate away at any and all sanity they could find, piercing into your very soul in pursuit of the most intimate secrets, the things kept hidden away. Bruce ripped his eyes away almost immediately. 

"It’s a real riot,” he tacked on nervously, spurred by the amusement he had seen in the Joker’s eyes at his previous comment, hoping that if he could keep him entertained long enough– pain exploded in Bruce’s head as the butt of a gun slammed into his unprotected temple, stars dancing across his eyes. His hands slapped painfully against the tiled floor as he fell to the side, thankful that his date had scurried back farther then he had. Her hands still clutched the back of his jacket however, her fearful shivers tugging at the fabric gently. 

"Only the boss makes the jokes," a scratchy voice interjected.

“Hey!" The shout was punctuated by a spray of bullets that echoed through the hall, pulling screams from many guests. There was a thud beside him, something bounced off of Bruce’s side. "Hands off the merchandise," the Joker whined, like a child almost deprived of his favorite toy. 

Bruce's head snapped back around, feeling only a slight relief at the sight of clown henchman's fallen body, chest riddled with bullet holes. It wasn't an innocent, but it was still a life. Bruce raised a hand to his temple, fingers coming away smeared with blood. Black spots still dancing erratically through his sight, he blinked in an attempt to chase them away, along with the throbbing pain slowly taking up residence in the back of his skull. He tried to focus on the pain instead of the warm wetness at his knees. Blood soaked into his pant legs, pooling on the floor, sped quickly through the grooves in the tile. An intricate pattern of crimson crisscrosses spreading out before the puddle could catch up. 

"Sorry sweetheart, my men can get a little grabby,” the white nose scrunched up in distaste, “Not that we blame them, right?" the Joker winked at him, the gun cocked against his hip again. 

“He's insane,” a man whispered in awe, just loud enough for the Joker to hear and Bruce wanted to bash his head against the tiles in front of him, add his blood to the rest, despite the pain already throbbing behind his skull. Was this guy serious? Was he stupid? Suicidal? Why did some people have so many death wishes, and why did they all live in Gotham?

“Who said that?” the Joker asked with the same exasperation Bruce felt as he whipped around, scanning the crowd as he moved away from the main event, eyeing each hostage until they squirmed, “Do you wanna know how I got these scars?” the Joker finally laughed tossing a wink at Bruce, his gun sweeping over the gathering. “Better yet!” the madman grinned, “I’ll show you!” The sadistic chuckle that followed silenced even the whimpers of distress in the crowd. “Who was it?! Was it, yoooou?" The Joker sang mockingly, picking up an older man by the jacket, demonstrating just how misconceiving his smaller frame could be. The man shook his head violently, tears streaming down his wrinkled face. “Ah, who cares who it was! Want to have some fun old man?" the madman questioned darkly, deftly drawing out a knife. Bruce still couldn't go for the gun on the dead henchclown, even though it was right next to his hand, it was too risky... what would he even do with it? The embodiment of insanity placed the knife against the whimpering man's cheek, oblivious to Bruce's inner turmoil, trailing it in a loving manner back and forth a few times. Bruce clenched his fists.

"Our play date over already?" Bruce panicked, calling out whatever came to mind, whatever could catch his attention, just as the Joker broke skin. The people around him gasped, his date finally letting go of his jacket to scamper farther away from him in shocked disgust. The Joker froze in place, blood trailing down the blade of his knife, the crimson meeting leather, then a grin broke out across his face. He squealed in joy, a visible shiver running up his spine as he carelessly threw the elder back to the floor. Pure insane, excited, laughter echoed through the hall accentuated by his shrill sounds of excitement. Pocketing the knife, the Joker skipped back over to Bruce, covering the small distance quickly. A purple, gloved hand shot out, sharply fisting dark stands of hair, tearing Bruce’s head back roughly.

"Bruce, baaaby, we're just getting started," the Joker whispered darkly, and then it felt as if everything stopped, slowed. The shuffling of the henchmen, the sobbing of the crowd, all silenced. The smaller man leaned forward a fraction, leering smile adorning his face, then he went rigid, his hand tightening in Bruce's hair. Glass shattered somewhere in the background and a stinging pain broke out in Bruce's leg. He watched in morbid fascination as the clown's lipstick trickled down his pale chin, gazed on in horror as crimson liquid bubbled up out of the clown's mouth, slipping past his painted smile and dribbling down his chin. The Joker coughed, splattering blood across Bruce's face, warm droplets making the billionaire blink. “Bruce," the Joker gasped weakly, blood frothing at his lips, and everything suddenly sped up again. The Joker fell forward swiftly, Bruce surging up to catch him. Glass smashed onto the ground, cries of pain echoed through the hall. Wet warmth drenched Bruce's arms through his jacket sleeves, blood oozing down the front of his dress shirt. Screams filled the hall, accompanied by gruff shouts and confused curses. Chaos reigned around them. Bruce oblivious to it all as he lowered the Joker to the ground, flipping the man over carefully. Crimson had seeped through both his green vest and purple jacket, making its way to the tiled floor at an alarming rate. Bruce's hands instantly began pushing down against the clown’s gushing wound, applying pressure. Bruce was unable to look away from the garish sight the man's blood streaked face made. Someone tugged at his shoulder but he roughly shrugged them off. The Joker's lips trembled, his eyes rolled back in his head, bubbles slipped past parted lips once more as wet coughs racked his body, before his eyes closed, his hand falling limp against his chest where it had been clawing at the wound.

“Bruce!” The voice cut through, warped and twisted through a tunnel of water, then snapping suddenly into sharp clarity.

"Bruce, what are you doing? Bruce, stop! Just let the bastard die!" someone shouted from beside him, tugging violently at his arm. He ignored them, pushing harder against the wound, the Joker’s breathing wet and harsh.

“Master Bruce!" shocked, Bruce looked up. Alfred ran towards him through the fleeing crowd.

“Alfred, call an ambulance. Get your med kit, we need blood." the billionaire commanded immediately, turning his attention back to the task at hand. 

“At once, sir," his butler answered weekly, his skin still pale.

“Bruce just let him die," the voice said again and Bruce slapped them away harshly. He was vaguely aware of the flashing lights: white, blue and red. He knew the henchmen had scattered. The party goers had either fled or were currently fleeing. Fear shot through Bruce at the Joker's pale blood coated lips, soaked jacket, and stilled breathing. He wasn't going to let another person die not if he could help it. When the tugging at his arm insisted he snapped his hand out, catching his date's thin wrist, blood smearing over her expensive bracelets. Tugging her hand down he placed it on the Joker's wound. The woman recoiled in disgust, trying to pull her hand away with an indignant, horrified exclamation. 

Bruce fixed her with a serious stare, “Help me.”

“I'd help you, not him. He’s a mass murderer, Bruce, let him die!” her eyes were wide with fear, her full painted lips twisted in revulsion.

“I can't.” Bruce breathed out, the statement ambiguous, yet meaningful.

“Why?” she asked him in shocked horror.

“I just can't!” Seeing the disgust on the woman's face Bruce knew he was getting nowhere.

“If you don't start applying pressure to the wound I’ll make sure you never, ever, work in the entertainment industry again. Not even for porn.” Bruce tacked on at the actress' wide-eyed fearful stare. The woman moved shakily, placing her hands over the wound, shock obviously taking her over as she pressed down. More lights flashed, they were constantly flashing. Bruce checked the clown's pulse, the smaller man was obviously not breathing, but his pulse was weak. Shifting positions he leaned over the Joker, tilting the white face back. Taking a deep breath he placed his lips against the unconscious man’s blood lined ones. Ignoring the metallic taste, he exhaled, sending air into the Joker's lungs. It was an awkward position, his date was in the way. He pushed air into the Joker three more times, moving to pump his chest steadily. Alfred arrived at that point, quickly folding the man’s pale arm away from his chest. Tapping for a vain, the elder man slipped in an IV and held the blood bag up, handing it to the girl, who looked grateful for the change in task. Alfred took the woman’s spot and reapplied pressure to the Joker's wound just as Bruce switched from the clown’s chest to his mouth. Bruce wasn't sure how many rotations of CPR he had done until the paramedics finally arrived. Bruce caught sight of them, immediately noticing their reluctance. Fixing them down with the same stare he gave the actress he gritted his teeth, he didn't have time for this. They didn't have time for this. 

“If he dies, I will strip you of your jobs. Any schooling you've had will be worth nothing, just a pile of debts and no way to pay for them,” he hissed out watching the same startled looks cross their faces. 

The paramedics jumped into action, immediately taking over the situation. You didn't make a billionaire ask twice. Bruce fell back as they rushed around the fallen clown. The playboy leant back on his hands, only now noticing just how much his leg hurt. Looking down, he wasn't sure if the blood staining his dress pants belonged to him or the Joker. Sighing, he let his head fall back, his shoulders slump, as they carried the clown away on a stretcher. It took him a moment to realize that those flashing lights were no longer red, and blue, but bright and sporadic. Opening his eyes he took in the reporters snapping pictures of him. Beside him, Alfred looked queasy, raising a hand to rest on Bruce’s shoulder, more to lean against the sturdy, younger man than to comfort him. Bruce covered Alfred’s hand with his own, meeting the old man's tired gaze and swallowing hard.

“Alfred. What just happened?” Bruce asked pointlessly, trying to take in the chaos around them.

“Peter called, he informed me that the man hired for security wasn't who he had originally spoken with, and I believe someone just tried to assassinate the Joker,” was the man's steely reply. Bruce nodded before looking around the ground beside them.

“But where's the bullet? It went straight through him.” Bruce speculated, but really not seeing anything more then red pools. He supposed he had a little shock of his own to deal with.

“I believe, sir, that it went in you,” Alfred observed the ambulance speeding off before looking towards the police rushing in. Bruce glanced at the man, confused, before he fully realized the situation. 

“Let’s get you downstairs, Master Wayne, and patch you up before they can start questioning you,” Bruce inclined his head agreement, shakily rising to his feet. Pain shot through his leg and blood trickled down his thigh, confirming Alfred's hypothesis. The shock wore off half way to their destination and Bruce wondered how the hell he managed to miss being shot, because it sure hurt like a bitch.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

I do like reviews. Comments. Concerns. Desires. ;P


	2. The Spark of Fascination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Joker crashed Bruce's party

Shattered Identities

Chapter 2

The Spark of Fascination

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The night of the attack Bruce hobbled his way into the bat suit. He couldn't let the leads at the crime scene get away from him. The first stop after watching his own surveillance for the bullet's trajectory was the rooftop the assassin used. Not feeling like scaling buildings tonight, not that his body would be up to it even if he did, he simply parked in an alley close to the building, slower than usual he slipped through the night, grappling to the roof. Bruce grunted in pain as he made it to the top, scouring the area for clues, but there was nothing there. No clues, residue, boot prints, nothing. Dusting the area he didn't even find prints. Growling he painfully made his way back to the batmobile, after a short moment of aimless wondering, he decided that maybe he should check on the Joker's condition. He was glad he did.

It wasn't hard to find the operating room the Joker was held in. The horde of press outside some closed doors easily gave away the hall he was being held in, it was simple matter of finding the right room. Which didn't turn out that hard, either. A doctor was relaxing against the wall near one of the doors. His hands covered in blood a cigarette between his lips. Batman silently stalked towards him crushing the cigarette in his gloved fist before the man even noticed he was there. The man startled as a black glove ground in protest to Bruce's tight grip inches from his face.

“You're not supposed to smoke in here.” He said gruffly, the doctor shrunk back from him raising his hands in surrender, pressing himself back against the wall.

“What's going on? Why are you out here?” Batman asked getting into the man's personal space.

“Nothing.” The man exhaled before shaking his head pulling himself out of his shocked stupor, “Nothing is happening! Tha-that's the problem. The head surgeon won't let me stabilize him.”

“The Joker?” The man nodded his head his eyes still the size of saucers.

“Why?” Batman added when the man didn't say anything more.

“I don't know, man. Maybe because it's the fucking Joker. It still doesn't feel right though. I have no idea how the bastard is still alive, but he is. I stopped the major artery but there's still internal bleeding and he has a collapsed lung. He needs surgery but...” Batman leaned over peering into the room as the man trailed off, nurses sat around looking nervous like they weren't quite sure what they should be doing anymore. While another doctor leaned casually against a counter glaring at the Joker's blood soaked body. Scowling Bruce grabbed the man's arm and kicked the door open, it slammed against the wall dramatically and every one in the room jumped, heads jerking towards them.

“Do your job.” He growled out maneuvering the doctor into the room and he scrambled towards the Joker, shouting orders at the shocked assistants.

“What the fuck! What do you think, Aaron stop! Felicia!” The other doctor shouted as the nurses ignored him. He turned his attention to Batman like he was going to reprimand him, but stopped short, suddenly unsure of himself as Bruce's built body stalked towards him.

“What is going on here?” Batman growled fixing his piercing gaze on the doctor. The doctor pressed himself back against the counter leaning as far away from the cowled man as he could.

“Look Batman. It's just business okay? No one would care if this guy died, but it's a pretty big bonus for the hospital if he does.” Bruce's eyes narrowed.

“How much?”

“A hundred thousand.”

“From who?”

“I don't know! Okay! I just got some cryptic message and half the money up front before I even realized what was happening.”

“When did you get the money?”

“Sometime around eight.”

“Yesterday night?”

“Well technically yes. Last night, whatever, like seven hours ago.”

“What account did they transfer it to.”

“Look Batman. It's a lot of money okay, just let the psycho die. It'll save more lives in the long run.” The doctor pleaded with him, a look on his face like Bruce was insane.

“Which bank account?”

“The hospital's donation funds.” The man said a little too quickly. Batman fisted his shirt lifting him a few inches off the ground. The man gripped his gloved hands fearfully.

“My... personal funds.” He gasped out, Batman scowled, cocked his fist back ready to slam it into the man's face when suddenly the Joker flat lined. The high pitched tone making him falter. He turned around and the other doctor was staring panic stricken towards the two.

“I, I can't do this by myself.” He stuttered blood splattered across his face now. The Vigilante frowned turning back to the man in his grasp.

“Fix him and I'll double it.” Bruce decided, he didn't have time to convince the man.

“I don't think – .” Batman pushed him harshly towards the operating table as blood gurgled out of the Joker's lips, his body seizing on the table. The man stumbled quickly flipping around keeping Bruce in his sights. The vigilante's leg gave a painful throb.

“If you don't, I'll strip you of your Job, and beat the shit out of you.”

“What if they strip me of my life?” Bruce glared at the man. They probably would if they got the chance.

“They wont.”

“How do you know?!”

“Because I'll find them. Do your job. Two hundred thousand.” The doctor stood for a second before nodding, looking skeptical, but he finally turned to help his colleague, at the other doctors pleading. Batman stuck around watching them stabilize and patch up the Joker's insides. His leg protested painfully against the constant standing. Once the Joker was stable and he had both doctors word the Clown would remain that way, he left the building. Contacting Barbara immediately he had her trace the money trail in the man's account, and hack the hospital cameras to put an alarm on the Joker's vital signs. The money trail lead back to a small Chinese restaurant in downtown Gotham. Bruce thanked Barbara and her abilities. Planning on paying the restaurant a visit when his leg wasn't quite protesting as violently as it currently was.

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

Bruce had a vague knowledge of what the morning news would be the day after his party. Vales always covered The Joker's attacks, sometimes even while they were happening. He knew it may play him as the bad guy, as him aiding The Joker, simply because he saved the dying man. He hadn't prepared himself, however, for the image on the front cover of the Gotham Gazette. His leg was killing him, it happened when you had to cut out a bullet. He had stiffly made his way down to breakfast, Alfred making his favorite to help his already sour mood. Alfred had hesitated on giving him the newspaper, urging him to eat first. The stubborn vigilante refused however, demanding the article regardless of his father figure's insistence.

Alfred had thrown the paper down in front of him with an irritated sigh, still looking a little under the weather, and in no mood to keep up the argument. Bruce froze taking in the cover. There in black and white he knelt kissing The Joker as chaos reigned around them, one hand under the man's head tilting it backwards. He was opening his airway, but the camera didn't care about that, the angle almost intentionally making it hard to tell what he was actually doing. Bruce's lips tightened as he took it in. Needless to say, he pushed his breakfast away from him, nausea taking hold, realizing just how bad this entire situation had panned out to be. If Alfred didn't have his hands pressed against The Joker's chest looking serious and sickly pale, there would have been no argument, it would have been impossible to convince the city he wasn't making out with the dying villain. Thanks to Alfred it was still salvageable, maybe.

In bold letters by the image it said 'more on page twelve.' Reluctantly he turned the pages, the next picture they had plastered on the newspaper was entirely morbid and Bruce worried it would ruin his careless playboy image completely. It also did nothing to hold up the story he was going to feed the city when they screamed for his blood. This one was of his profile, still kneeling beside The Joker. Bruce was sure the paramedics were rushing in but they were cut from the scene. It was just Bruce and The Joker. Yes, Alfred's hands were still covering the clown's wound beside him, but he wasn't in the shot, covered by Bruce's broad shoulders. The vigilante was staring ahead, probably at the EMTs, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, lips tight, determined. His face was covered in blood, he was covered in blood, his shirt, jacket, hands. It trailed down his chin, trickled along his neck. It almost looked like he had bathed in it, lapped it up and smeared it around, just for fun. It was creepy, disturbing, insane, and he covered the picture almost immediately. Trying to scrub the sight from his mind. Instead he ignored the images going on to read the article. Which was titled 'Billionaire Playboy or Billionaire Clown Toy? The Joker strikes again!'

_Last night the city of Gotham was harrowed by the Clown Prince of Crime! You heard right. The madman that escaped about a month ago finally made his debut at Bruce Wayne's Christmas Extravaganza. Which I must mention wasn't quite up to par for the playboy's usual bashes. Eyewitness reports say the Joker and his crew crept in with the crowd, fooling all of the security protocols Bruce Wayne normally has in place. Some find it rather hard to believe that the man simply was slacking on his security, since normally the party goers complain about how long it takes to get to the actual party! With the purse searches and random pat downs it's hard to believe that these criminals simply slipped by. Which leads some to question how the Clown actually made it in. Did Bruce himself have something to do with this? Is there something going on here that the City of Gotham doesn't know about? Fear not readers I will get to the bottom of this! After a great unveiling, my eyewitnesses tell me that the Joker spent an inordinate amount of time speaking with the billionaire. One, who claims to have been closest to the actual interaction says that our favorite socialite was even exchanging playful banter with the mad man! And he was getting away with it! Not only that, but our resident Clown killed one of his own henchman when the poor ex-convict decided to punish Bruce out of turn. Poor henchman! Maybe not so much. He was a criminal after all. Which leads me to the question on why the City of Gotham has been so outraged this morning, and they have a right to! The Joker, madman and mass murderer, was shot by a long range weapon during his takeover at Wayne's party! Who shot the Clown and why is still under investigation, and the police have divulged no information at this time, but unlike the rest of the world who ran for their lives, witnesses say Bruce Wayne stayed to save the mass murdering psychopath. You read that right my dear people, Bruce Wayne saved the Joker! Bruce allegedly gave the Clown CPR (Page 1), but it doesn't quite look like simple CPR now does it? And why would the Billionaire even want to save The Joker?! What drove him to save this madman? Is there something between them we aren't aware of? With that expression it's hard to tell. (Page 12) Don't worry or fret Gothamites! I, Vicki Vale will get to the bottom of these chilling events and we will count it a blessing that the only people gravely injured during the potentially catastrophic events where the Clown's henchman, Dillan Hollands, and the Prince of Crime himself. Although dozens were injured this has seemed to be one of the lowest casualty attacks the Clown has ever pulled. Rest easy Gotham he is back behind bars, or a padded cell, as the case may be, and hopefully won't be out for quite awhile, if ever. Let's cross our fingers and give Arkham Asylum some funding to keep that madman locked away! For more information on how to donate turn to page 22._

Bruce scowled, the obvious hints at him and the Joker being in cohorts with each other made him even more nauseous and he left the table, despite Alfred's adamant protests that he needed his strength. Bruce knew Vale would want an interview and he was definitely going to give it to her, he needed to clean this mess up before it got out of hand, and a few hours later he wasn't let down. She did call him, barely twelve hours after the incident, which he was expecting, ever the journalistic bloodhound. Unfortunately, all the news stations seemed to be airing was the attack from last night, so he instantly consented to the interview and she sped over in record time. Bruce let Alfred answer the door, he didn't want the press getting wind of his injury. The last thing he needed was for this story be turned into two lovers being romantically shot with the same bullet, or some bullshit.

Vicki Vale appeared in the doorway exchanging pleasantries with Alfred, recorder in pocket, he watched her press the button subtly as she entered the room.

“Vicki. It's been awhile since you've beaten at my door.” Bruce said playfully. Watching her sway her hips for him as she moved farther into the room. He gave her what she wanted, giving her an appreciative once over.

“It didn't take much of a beating.” She countered taking a seat in the armchair next to him, making sure he could see plenty of leg.

“Well, I would be lying if I didn't say the article you wrote was a... tad bit disturbing. I realize what I did wasn't quite...” Bruce trailed off skillfully, breaking eye contact. Vale touched his hand comfortingly.

“I'm sorry Bruce. I had to play the story that everyone wanted to hear. Now that that's over I can actually tell them what happened. Which is why I'm here.” Bruce played slightly hurt letting his playboy pout take center stage.

“Alright. I get it, but really? I mean... No, I saw the picture, I get it.”

“It did look pretty bad, probably just a really good photographer right? So tell me. What really happened?” She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back giving her a shy thankful smile.

“I, this entire party was not.” He huffed, “I had to plan it. You can imagine how that went.” Bruce said with a little laugh and Vicky gave him a smile.

“I bet.” She said shaking her head in disbelief.

“Everything was going wrong, I mean Alfred normally takes care of everything, and I mean everything. Down to my tie and socks.” Bruce admitted with a flippant wave of his hand.

“Yeah I noticed, I saw the pictures of you and your date.” Vale nodded again and this time Bruce matched her smile.

“Yeah. It was a train wreck from the start. I didn't realize that the head of security had come down with the flu. That the man he called in to take his place wasn't, well, wasn't who he was supposed to be.”

“Really?” Vale asked in genuine fascination, leaning forward, he could see the sparks ignite in her eyes, already making a list of things she would track down once she left his home.

“I believe that's how he got in.”

“The Joker.”

“Yes, the Joker.”

“Let's talk about that. You and the Joker.”

“There is no me and the Joker.” Vale gave him a look.

“Come on Bruce. You don't just flirt with the Joker and live to talk about it. I didn't specify what you said so I could get your side of the story, but I do know what happened.” For once Bruce was actually thankful, but he supposed that could count as he way of paying him back for all the times he saved her ass.

“Isn't it obvious? I didn't want to die.”

“You called him back.”

“You didn't mention that in the article.”

“And I should have?”

“I saved that man's life.”

“Did you?” Bruce rolled his eyes leaning back in his chair, careful not to jar his leg.

“This is starting to feel like a shrink session.” He complained resting his head on his forefinger and thumb.

“Do you see a lot of shrinks?”

“No. Vale, let's stay on topic.”

“The topic is you and the Joker.” Bruce tilted his head back in exaggerated annoyance.

“Fine. I did flirt. If stuttering what he wanted to hear, and then not getting shot because the crazy son of a bitch actually liked it can be considered flirting.”

“I don't think, what was it... 'Is our play date over already?' is considered stuttering, Bruce.” It dawned on him that he actually said that.

“I, I did, but, I couldn't just sit there and watch that man get hurt. It was my party. I was the reason he was there. The Joker hadn't killed me yet, I figured I had a better shot than he did.” Bruce finished lamely, “Your right, it wasn't the smartest move. But nothing I did that night was really.”

“So you saved that man.” She asked skeptically.

“Yes.”

“Risking your own life.”

“I suppose.” Vale leaned closer with a wondering look on her face.

“Why?” She stated and that was the burning question.

“Because it, I... I didn't want...” He tried keeping his gaze on the table, breaking off mystically, and Vale looked entirely confused. Good. He tapped his fingers nervously against the armrest for effect.

“Bruce you can tell me.” Bruce held back a scoff at that as she rubbed his muscled back. Yeah tell a reporter everything. He licked his lips giving her a tight smile.

“I,” He shook his head, and rubbed his eyes, “I didn't want to see anyone else die in front of me. Not again. Not like...” He trailed off as understanding dawned on Vicki's face. His inner Batman smirked.

“Like your parents.” She said with pity.

“I can't handle that again Vicki. I... didn't handle it very well in the first place.” Bruce tried to joke and Vale gave him a tight smile.

“So when the Joker – .”

“I couldn't sit there and watch. I couldn't let that happen. Couldn't see that. Regardless of who it was. I guess... I wasn't thinking straight but I – .”

“It's okay. I get it. Wow. I was really hoping you two had something going.” Bruce fixed her with a legit glare.

“No and no thank you. I have a large selection of partners and you think I'd choose the Joker.”

“It was more a vague hope.”

“Well no, besides it would have to be some man to make me swing that way.”

“So you're not against that idea?”

“Vicki.” Bruce warned.

“Only joking.” She said holding her hands up in surrender.

“How are you coping?” She asked after a small moment of silence. Bruce shifted in his seat.

“Alfred's helping, just like last time, those pictures though, they didn't help much.” He told her with a sly sideways glance.

“Sorry.” Vale said sheepishly and Bruce reached over tucking one of her strawberry strands behind her ear.

“You should be.” He smirked in a way he knew brought women to their knees, it didn't stop her from pressing him for details of the entire night's events, but it helped.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Vale ran with the angle of a poor terror stricken orphan Bruce Wayne still haunted by the tragedy of his childhood and Bruce thought it was over with, that the press would die out, and it technically did, little tidbits popping up every now and then over the next few weeks. The Joker had spent the first week in intensive care. It was hard to recover from a collapsed lung even for The Joker. The madman was a fighter though, and while Bruce had made no effort to check on The Joker's condition, Batman had kept him under surveillance. It was barely a few days since the clown had been stabilized, a day since he had gained consciousness, and according to Vicki Vale the subject wasn't dead, because she published a new article, a new interview. Apparently the clown had plenty of energy to grant her an audience. It wasn't hard for Batman to get the her recordings, wasn't hard for him to hack into the surveillance system. If what the papers said were disturbing, what the tapes held were worse. They held the fascination.

Vicki Vale was seated across from the Joker, who was slumped over in a metal chair looking pale and tired. One hand rested upon the metal table between them, his hands cuffed to table, which was bolted into the floor. His fingers twitched almost as if he wanted to tap them against the solid surface but couldn't quite dredge up the energy. His other hand rested against his abdomen a few inches under the spot Bruce knew his wound was located, the chain barely allowing him that comfort. Vale's back was to the camera her posture rigid, her fear obvious despite the angle.

"So Joker how are you feeling? And thank you for granting me this interview." Vales voice said steadily, professionally. The Joker finally looked up from the table fixing her with an unblinking stare, a small smirk light up his face.

"I'd never turn away good publicity sugar. And I'm feeling fantastic! Nothing like having a bullet through your chest. I'll have to show you some time." He said miserably scratching at his clothing just beneath the wound.

"Really? The scar?! That would be great! Could I get a few pictures?" Vale asked excitedly and The Joker raised an eyebrow, slowly licking his lips and Bruce rolled his eyes, knowing the Joker hadn't meant showing her the actual wound but giving her one.

"No, Darling. A bullet through your chest. A birthday present. Maybe. Whens your birthday, Cupcake?" He grumbled out fixing the woman with a muted amused stare.

"I, Umm, ha, thats funny.” She forced a laugh her voice shaken.

“Only if I were joking.” The Clown smirked gazing at her through half lidded eyes.

“R-right, let's g-get back to the topic." Vale's voice shook with unease, her head nodding, more to confirm it with herself then to the man across from her.

"So tell me, why Bruce Wayne? There was a party just last week held by the Mayor. Why not crash his ball?” The Joker's lips pulled into a grin.

“Really? The Mayor? Have you seen that whale? No, no, no, no no. I was looking for a change of scenery! It was a beautiful one at that.” The Joker replied with almost as much zeal as he usually spoke with.

“So. You,” Vale laughed nervously again shaking her head, “I, I don't understand. You choose the Bruce Wayne party because?” Joker inhaled loudly through his nose, pursing his lips before exhaling, annoyed.

“I was bored buttercup.” The Joker stated flatly, obviously tired of the line of questions, or maybe just tired in general.

“Right. Okay so, do you know who shot you? Any Ideas?”

“I could hazard a few guesses.” The Joker replied sarcastically which the reporter didn't catch onto.

“Really?” Vale said enthusiastically leaning forward a bit, “Who do you suspect?” The Joker let out a few quiet chuckles.

“All of Gotham of course. Come on! I'm surprised it's only happened once! Well succeeded anyway.” The Joker trailed off darkly. Joker shifted uncomfortably, a little grimace making its way onto his scarred features for a split second.

“Are you sure – .”

“Don't finish that sentence sweetheart. I'm not in the mood.” Vale snapped her jaws shut with an audible click. Taking a few seconds to regain her bearings.

“Okay, what, um, what do you remember after being shot? Were you scared?” Joker rolled his eyes, it was obvious he couldn't think this woman was any more of an imbecile. Bruce knew that if the Joker was free right now he would have already murdered her a hundred times over.

“Scared? Really? No. Don't be ridiculous. It did hurt like a bitch though! I was definitely surprised! Now that doesn't happen every day. I remember starry blue eyes and some strong arms, though.” The Clown said dreamily. “Then I was choking on my own blood!” The Joker broke into a fit of laughter, which quickly died out with a pained gasp, and an angry growl, his hand tightening on his shirt.

“Right.” Vale said quietly barely heard in the quiet of the room.

“Bruce caught you. Is that who you're talking about?”

“What? Oh yes, Brucey Babe. I remember him.” The Joker trailed off getting a far away look on his makeup free face.

“I have some pictures. I was thinking you might want to look at them.”

“Do you now?” He leaned forward with a grin. “I love show and tell. So do show, and do tell.” Vale leaned away from him with another nervous laugh.

“Of course, let me, uh. Here.” Vale shuffled around in her purse pulling out some printed pictures. She handed a few to the Joker who swiped them from her hand impatiently. He flipped through them quickly.

“Boring. I see myself covered in blood quite often sunshine. Try again.” He scowled throwing them onto the table so they slid into the redhead's lap.

“I have a few of – .” Vale was saying, already halfway to handing The Joker a new group of pictures.

“Oh ho ho! Please tell me they're of that muscled man! Yeah? Now we're talking!” There was a screech of metal as he slid his cuffed wrist across the table. “Give em' here sweetheart.” He bumped his chest against the table and hissed in pain recoiling back into his seat, one hand placed tenderly over his injury, he tilted his head up a bit to glare at her through darkened eyes.

“Don't make me come over there.” He threatened with a small smirk, papers slid over the metal table as Vale tossed him the pictures unwilling to get into his space in anyway.

“Oh yes! Would you look at that! Never knew the playboy could look quite so dashing in red. Is that mine?” The Joker asked with seer curiosity cocking his head to the side he fixed Vale with a speculative look.

“I'm sorry?” Vale asked confused and the Joker rolled his eyes.

“The blood, Sugar Plum.”

“Oh, I, yes, yes I believe it is, Bruce wasn't injured from what I know.” The Joker kept his head cocked, raised an eyebrow, and Vale shifted unsteadily under his unblinking gaze. Slowly he shifted his eyes back to the image pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes.

“Is... something wrong?” Vale asked after about half a minute of The Joker's silence. The madman just shook his head softly running a finger down the picture.

“No.” Joker replied quietly in a knowing tone, a little smile tugging his lips. “Nothing at all.” Vale didn't seem to be buying it and leaned forward to get a better view of the picture he was looking at.

“Is something wrong? Is there something you can tell me? Did you hurt him? He looked fine when I interviewed him.” Vale gushed and the Joker chuckled a few times, cutting it off again with an irritated look, his hand holding his chest. He looked over at the woman running his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Anything? To tell you?” He smiled, “Nope, not here. I have nothing of Immm-port for you. Him though.” He turned his attention back to the picture with a look of fascination. “So that is mine?” Joker exhaled in awe. “So he what? Got down and – .” The Joker started as he shuffled through the pictures stopping on one suddenly, “Oh, oh he did.” He said with a satisfied smirk. Vale shifted uncomfortably again.

“I'm sorry?” Vale said not quite following.

“He actually did it.”

“Did what?”

“Saved me.” The Joker tried to laugh again. “He actually saved me. You must have had a riot with that one.”

“It was a good story yes. So what do you think of Bruce Wayne. The people of Gotham found it interesting you didn't kill him.”

“Why would I?” The Joker asked genuinely confused.

“Well you. Normally, that's what you do, you, kill people. When, you, you know, when they speak, or move wrong.” She trailed off quietly unsure of herself.

“Then isn't it obvious? That man was a riot! You should have seen him! Barely blinked twice really.” The Joker trailed off going back to admiring the picture.

“So, is there anything you'd like to say to Bruce? You'd want him to know? Maybe thank him?” Vale asked after a few more moments of silence, only broken by the soft shuffle of paper as the Joker leafed through the pictures.

“Nothing that I can't say to his face.” The Joker whispered absently, taking in every detail of every shot before moving to the next.

“I'm sure that will be quite awhile. You're going back to Arkham. Do you plan on escaping again?” Vale asked and the Joker scoffed.

“What do you think Blossom?” The Joker asked dryly leaning back against the metal armrest of his chair, still looking through the pictures. “And he will be my first stop! Our play date was cut short, you see, and we were having such fun!” He kicked one leg up over the other arm rest, leaving his other down, keeping pressure off his wound, he unveiled another photo.

“Oh? Oh.” The Joker exhaled faintly. “This one is perfect.” He threw the rest of the pictures onto the table. “Look. Just look at him. Look. At. Him!” He held the picture out so Vale could see it.

“I, uh, I can see him. He is, um, definitely, covered in blood.” She finished with a tight smile that was more of a grimace. Bruce tried to zoom in, but the video from the surveillance camera was too blurry to make out the picture.

“If only his eyes were open. Or it was a front view! Oh if he were shirtless!” The Joker spouted admiring the picture again.

“Are you... I mean, do you prefer, um, men, I suppose?” Vale asked the fear evident in her voice, showing she realized just how edgy her question was, and remembered just who she was talking to. Joker fixed Vale with a disbelieving look. Like she was the crazy one.

“Why miss Vale! Men, women, hermaphrodites, trans gender. Sweetheart does it really matter? I mean REALLY matter? They all die the same way... With a smile on their faces!” The Joker cackled again, he took a sharp inhale of breath, this time slamming his hand against the table angrily, holding a hand against his chest in pain.

“This is really annoying.” He muttered to himself scowling at the picture for all of two seconds before his face slipped to a relaxed position again as he stared at the photo.

“I um,” It was obvious this interview was getting to Vale as she didn't ask anything else, let alone she really wasn't getting much from the madman except that he might think Bruce was hot. Silence took hold of the room as the Joker continued to stare at the picture. His lips parted as he trailed a finger down the side of the photo. Then those fingers trailed along his bottom lip. Vale was searching for something in her purse, and a second later she pulled out a phone. Quietly she flipped it open and Bruce had a sinking feeling just before the shutter sound echoed through the room. The Joker's previously glazed eyes snapped to attention slowly zeroing in on the reporter across from him.

“I wasn't ready for that one. I don't even have my face on.” The Joker said darkly setting the picture gently on top of the table. “Why don't you give that here and we won't have any problems, ey?”

“It's just for the paper. You agreed to this interview. That includes a photo.” The Joker gave her a tight smile tilting his head back he let his hand drop, outstretched, against the table. His palm waiting. He wriggled his fingers a few times and Vale just stared at him, The Joker scowled.

“I don't really think you. Quite. Understand. What I'm saying.” The Joker growled turning his hand around he clawed at the table. He let his foot slip back onto the ground, sitting up again. “Hand it over Toots and no one gets hurt.” The Joker leaned over the table placing his other hand against the smooth surface.

“I really think that – .” There was a harsh slap of flesh against metal and Vale gasped. The Joker's hand coming down on the table violently sending a few pictures sailing off the edge.

“No! No.” The Joker cut her off, giving her a smile, he lifted one hand up his index finger a little more rigid than the rest, silencing her.

“I'll give you some time, yeah? Let's say, mmn, ten seconds. You know how to count right. Let's count down together!” He cocked his head to the side with a grin, placing his hand back onto the table.

“Ten!” He said through his teeth.

“It's just a picture, look I'll – .”

“Nine!” His scars pulling as the corner of his mouth twitched.

“ – take some more of you when – .”

“Eight.” He accentuated the tee and leaned farther forward.

“ – ever your ready. What do you say?”

“Seven.” The madman grew more serious, his playful tone evaporating, his body sinking closer to the table.

“Seriously. Joker. Look I'll delete it.”

“Six.” Bruce noticed the Clown's hands moving, a small tinkling of metal.

“Okay fine. I think we're both responsible – .” Vale was losing her professional cool, fear and panic creeping into her voice. About time Bruce thought.

“Five.”

“ – adults here, let's work this out. It's just a phone right?”

“Four, three, two, one.” Joker finished quickly. Vale screamed as The Joker suddenly launched himself across the table. Easily scrambling across it, despite his wound.

“Oh my god! Someone stop him! What are you doing?!” Vale screamed as the Joker slid to the ground in front of her. His hand shot forward easily catching one of the redhead's flailing ones. “Let me go! Guards!”

“Just be a good little girl and hand it over already.” The Joker hissed sounding distracted as he wrestled with her arm. They grappled around and eventually The Joker's back was to the camera, Vale's horrified face in full view.

“Please don't hurt me!” Something cracked and Vale screamed in pain dropping to the floor. The Joker fiddled with something in his hands. There was a bang, stomping boots and gruff shouts as the door slammed open. The Joker danced away from the guards shoving something into his mouth, dropping the phone to the ground. Seconds later he spat the remains of the phone's memory card onto the ground just as the guards rushed towards him.

“Whoa boys! Calm down! It was just a little argument.” They shoved their way past the table taking hold of either of his arms which he had held up in surrender. One of the went to cuff him. “Whoa, watch the goods. Hey don't touch that!” Joker snarled as one of the men nearly knocked over the table. The Joker kicked his chair which slammed into one of the guards knees sending him tumbling over, crashing to the ground with the chair. The Joker lunged forward ripping out of the other guards grip, but another guard intercepted him. The Joker grabbed the man's wrist slamming his hand into the man's elbow with a snap. Swiftly the man was down with a shout of pain, his arm hanging unnaturally. The Joker danced out of the previous guards grip again, snatching the picture off the table just as three guards threw themselves at the Joker, pinning him in between their bodies.

“Hands off! If you bend it!” The Joker hissed and a man screamed jerking away from the clown holding his neck. The Joker spat out a chunk of skin. Blood running down his mouth. He quickly slipped the picture under his shirt on the opposite side of his now bleeding wound. His breathing wheezed as the guards finally cuffed his hands.

“Alright! Alright! Lets all play nice! See we're okay? We're okay, right?!” Joker tried to cackle only to go into another coughing fit, this time spitting up blood. It was relatively quiet for a several seconds, only quiet curses and a few sobs or groans of pain were heard as they moved him towards the door. Vicki heaved herself off the ground her hand held close to her body.

“What took you guys so long?” Vale angrily demanded through her tears.

“Look lady. We told you this was a stupid fucking idea. It was your funeral.” The guard on the left of The Joker spoke up.

“That's what you're here for! To protect me!” Vale cried indignantly.

“Yeah and what about us? He broke my fucking arm. God damn it.” The downed man said cradling his arm to his chest and the Joker got out a few chuckles.

“The interview is over. This isn't worth it.” The guard on the right muttered.

“Wait. Wait! Okay fine! But, I need that picture back.” There was a long silence as everyone looked at the Joker who simply scoffed.

“You touch it and I'll disembowel your entire beautiful family, extended included. Wouldn't want them to miss out on the fun!” The Joker stated, a paper was crinkled a bit as he held a hand to his hip protectively.

“Forget your picture.” One of the guards stated with finality.

“But!”

“Get her out of the way.” Another gaurd spat and the the Joker settled on a cheek splitting grin, foregoing the laughter, as a guard moved towards her.

“Thanks for the gift sweetheart! It's definitely one of the better ones. Maybe I won't kill you when I get out! Maybe.”

“Shut up freak.” The Guard shoved him roughly and the Joker took a sharp inhaled breath, gripping his chest.

“Hey! Don't touch me!” Vale yelled out indignantly as she was shoved out of the way and the door slammed shut cutting out The Joker's labored breathing.

“God Damn it.” Vale cried at the shut door. Gingerly picking up her purse from the ground she fumbled around in it with her good hand. The sound cut off. Vale's recording over, and she walked out of the room.

Bruce rewound the surveillance tape, then paused it. The Joker sat across the metal table. Thin wrists encircled in cuffs chained to the table. The Arkham uniform already adorning his lithe figure. He was sitting sideways in his chair, slumping against the metal armrest, one leg thrown over the other. He held a picture in the air with his hand. None of this was anything too frightening or worrisome, his posture was normal. No, it was his expression. The calm, that sent fear, no, Batman was never afraid, concern gnawing at his insides. Joker was staring at the picture with a serene fascination, a sane glint in his eyes, his lips parted, fingertips tracing his scared bottom lip. Bruce knew while staring at the frozen image of the Joker that the madman was serious. His penthouse, mansion, office, where ever he was at, would be the first place the Joker would be when he escaped. He would delve into Bruce Wayne's history, his past, childhood, business dealings, one night stands. Into his soul. He would find every detail others had overlooked... and he would know. The Joker would know. Even half way through all of that, he would know. Bruce had no choice. He had to cut this off at the source, before the Joker could take his time, before he could escape. 

He needed to see the madman, as Bruce Wayne. He needed to play the most vile, idiotic, pathetic, uninterestingly unintelligent man he possibly could and maybe, just maybe, the Joker would drop this. Drop the fascination that sparked in those eerie green eyes.

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

Again. Love comments :D Reviews, stuff, presents, candy, cake, kittens. Wait what were we talking about?


	3. Dance of Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman tracks down a lead.

Whooooooos excited?!

Okay this chapter is a little out of order. I'm going to attempt to not do this in the future but, to be honest Bruce wouldn't wait a whole week to take up leads. But technically last chapter was one week later. So I'm kinda skipping back briefly. Get over it.

Note 2: I've played Batman: Arkham Asylum. I don't recall ever getting into the Maximum Security area. If we did. Let me know and I'll fix this up to match that area! Like seriously it bugs me lol.

Note 3: Last chapter I said downtown slums for the restaurant, downtown Gotham is actually not slums, I believe, if the maps I've seen are relatively correct. So it'll actually be high class downtown. That seems strange to me, but uptown held crime ally and things that just didn't seem like they belonged in ritzy places. Once Batman Arkham Knight comes out... this'll be easier and probably updated. Not really I'm bad at that...

Shattered Identities

Chapter 3

Dance of Fools

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Batman could tell, from the looks Robin kept flashing him, that the teen knew precisely why they were here. Why they had gone out on patrol, together, only two days after Bruce had been injured. Why they were sitting on top of a fancy downtown Chinese Restaurant just before closing. They were hiding in the shadows watching the last few customers leave. Robin, clothed in his signature costume, was leaning against the back of an ornate dragon sculpture that decorated the front of the building, floor to roof. Batman stood a little ways back favoring his good leg, he leaned against a cooling unit, patiently. His apprentice tapped his foot quietly, his boundless energy hard to contain. Eventually after several minutes of silence, Robin fixed his mentor with sharp blue eyes.

“So who are we looking for?” Tim finally asked, breaking eye contact to watch the last of the crowd trickle away.

“His name is Huáng Sòng. Oracle traced the money trail back to him, well, his deceased mother. Apparently he uses this establishment to launder money and her bank account to make transfers overseas through several other accounts. I'm surprised Oracle was able to track it down. The accounts technically closed in all legal rights, yet still active.” The older vigilante explained quietly, as people down below walked to their cars unaware they were being watched.

“She's good with that stuff.” His apprentice said with a proud smile, Batman hummed in agreement letting a small smile tug at his own lips. Tim exhaled impatiently after a few more minutes.

“So what's the plan?” Robin asked pushing off of the sculpture, his muscles rippling under his clothes with the movement. He threw one arm over his chest, stretching the muscles only pro-wrestlers should have at his age. Bruce pushed off of the air conditioning unit and Robin's eyes snapped to him, taking in his every movement. The older male knew he was looking for any sign he needed to step in and cut Batman off from this fight. It would be one hell of a staring match but Tim was pretty stubborn when it came to his well being.

“Interrogation.” Batman stated deeply, walking closer to the edge as the last car pulled out of the lot, their headlights finally clicking on once they were already on the road. Robin's eyes narrowed for a second debating his options, it was obvious Bruce's leg was painful, the way he walked was stiffer than normal, his usual powerful fluid movement absent under his black Kevlar. He'd seen worse though, Batman had seen worse, he wasn't willing to deal with a grumpy Bruce all week just to ensure he didn't get a nasty bruise from getting shot in the chest a few times.

“Oh, sounds fun.” The teen finally said, a smirk lighting his face for a second, making way for a more serious expression.

“I can do all the leg work.” He suggested the hope obvious in his voice, his eyes. Hope that Bruce wouldn't be stubborn, injuring himself farther trying to look tough. Hope that they wouldn't argue tonight. The vigilante looked at the teen, meeting his eyes, debating as they started a staring contest, Tim refusing to lose. Batman could do what he wanted, take the lead and let Robin pick up the slack. Breaking eye contact Bruce took a deep breath. He wouldn't though, if Tim were in his place, injured and had his own teammate to take the lead, he wouldn't want him to be stubborn, take the risk, chance himself or his teammates. So Bruce nodded reluctantly and Robin raised an eyebrow, an appreciative smile gracing his lips. Sometimes The Detective hated being a role model.

“Alright! Then let's crack some skulls.” The teen said darkly, slamming a fist into his palm. Batman leveled him with a disapproving gaze. It took a second for the teen to notice the attention.

“Oh, right, let's, smash some faces?” Robin tried again, raising a questioning eyebrow. Bruce kept his features blank, letting his partner sweat a little. Nodding his head he let a small smile grace his lips and Tim smiled in return, shaking his head at his mentor's antics.

“Watch the back door.” The older Vigilante instructed with a jerk of his head, his side kick nodded, creeping to the back of the building without a word. They sat in silence for roughly an hour, lying in wait, Bruce could tell Tim was getting fidgety, he kept getting flashes of red from the corner of his eye, because the kid kept moving around. Finally Robin signaled him over. Batman straightened up wincing at the protesting throb his leg gave, making his way over to the teen, hoping he hadn't noticed the delay. Robin was crouched at the edge of the roof, his staff in hand, held behind his back. They gazed down at the expensive black SUV parked in the back alley. The chauffeur stood near the passenger's door, waiting patiently. The back door opened a few minutes later, expelling two armed Asian men who immediately scanned the area. After a brief search of the alleyway, and a nod of their heads, a heavy set Asian stepped out of the door. Robin looked towards the older male who nodded in confirmation, his muscles tensing under his black Kevlar as he crouched down, ignoring the stab of pain in his injured leg. The teen didn't wait, dropping down he made quick work of one of the armed men, breaking an arm, and the chauffeur, slamming his head against the car with a side kick, before Bruce even had time to pulled out his tranquilizer gun. He quickly shot the other armed oriental man before he could level his gun on Tim. Twisting around Robin disarmed Sòng before the man could fumble his weapon into position. Crouching down he slammed the broken armed man's head into the ground, knocking him unconscious. He stood up in time to snatch Sòng's gun out of the air, dismantling the gun in front of him, just for show. The Dark Knight rolled his eyes, dropping down gently beside them. Sòng held up his hands in surrender his eyes wide, perspiration already lining his upper lip and forehead. Robin shot Batman a curious glance, eyeing the tranq-gun. Bruce just glared at the teen, putting it away, and the kid pursed his lips at his mentor's attitude, before turning back to their guest with a smirk.

“Sup boss.” Robin said cracking his knuckles ominously at the man, who backed up fumbling for the door handle. The teen flexed his muscles dramatically when he folded his arms, leaning casually against the SUV.

“W-wha-what you want?” The man asked, his Chinese accent heavy, his eyes wide. He gripped the handle and Batman violently slammed a gloved hand against the door, causing the heavy set man to jump out of his skin, the sound echoing through the area, Sòng scampered away from The Bat.

“We're going to ask some questions. You're going to answer them.” Batman stated, taking a few steps forward, using his height to intimidate the man, blocking the door. The Asian's eyes widened further, his breathing becoming labored, panicked. Robin uncrossed his arms tapping his fingers against the car behind him. The sound echoing eerily through the ally way. Startled Sòng jerked his head towards the teen. Who huffed out a breath of impatience leveling the man with an irritated gaze.

“Batman promised that tonight,” He said leaning forward his eyes piercing. “I get to smash some faces in. So don't make this too long, or it will be your face I'm smashing.” He finished with an innocent smile, leaning back onto the SUV. Sòng's eyes widened further.

“Did you wire money to a Dr. Joseph in return for killing the Joker?” Batman asked his voice ominous, his hand still on the door, subconsciously using it to lean on his good leg.

“I, I don't know, don't know nothin 'bout – .” Robin leapt forward smashing his fist into the man's face. Who was lucky, his fat took most of the blow, instead of his teeth. Sòng fell over regardless, the saying the bigger they are the harder they fall proving true. Song hit the ground hard his head smacking against the dirty, grime covered street. It took him several seconds to recover consciousness, drool dribbled down the Asian's cheek and Batman stepped away in disgust, barely avoiding getting the man's spit on his boots. He shot Robin a scathing look and the teen had the decency to look sheepish, scratching the back of his head.

“Too soon?” Robin asked coyly, afraid his role model would admonish him for the hit. Bruce stared at him for a few seconds, finally giving the teen an amused smile.

“Not at all.” Batman said approvingly, and the teen grinned at him. The older caped crusader reached down lifting the overweight man off the ground, he faltered for a second when his leg gave a throbbing protest. He'd forgotten about that. Robin tensed, looking for a brief second like he wanted to rush to his aid, but the kid knew better. Batman didn't show weakness. The vigilante shoved the Asian against the filth covered restaurant wall and the man gasped in pain. His pudgy fingers coming up to scrape at his gloved hands.

“Lets try this again.” Batman stated darkly staring the man down.

“Did you send fifty thousand dollars to a Dr. Miles Joseph?” Batman asked again with a sneer as the man clawed at his hold on him. Robin took the chance to look around them, make sure no one had noticed their little get together, Sòng was being pretty loud. The man squirmed in Bruce's grip, sweat dripping down his face. A little trail of blood making its way from the small scrape he obtained from his meeting with the ground. Sòng smelled like body-odor and dead fish, covered by cheap cologne.

“Okay okay! I did send the money. But I didn't know what for! I mean that's crazy right?!” The man rambled off laughing nervously. Giving up on prying the vigilante's grip off his shirt, he raised his hands in surrender.

“What are you talking about?” The Dark Knight asked loosening his grip a little in confusion. Trying to process the man's heavily accented words.

“That he'd pay to kill himself.” The Asian admitted like it was some crazy misunderstanding, Batman pressed him harder against the wall and the man choked a little, spit oozing down his chin again.

“What are you talking about?” The Bat repeated darkly, while Robin toed one of the downed man's unconscious bodies with his boot, making sure he was still out. Reaching down he picked up the gun, dismantling that one as well.

“The Joker.” Song gasped out painfully, Robin paused in his reach for the second gun.

“Yes?” Batman encouraged with a sneer, shaking the man for effect, his fat flopping, eyes rolling into his head.

“He. Hired. Me.” The Asian finally gasped out and Bruce actually looked taken aback. His brows furrowed under the cowl, a frown marring his angular lips. Robin looked just as confused, but didn't let it stop him from snatching up the last gun, quickly dismantling it.

“What do you mean? The Joker? The Joker hired you to wire the money?” Batman growled out and the Asian nodded his head enthusiastically, his fat rippling with each movement.

“Yes. I can show you. We have cameras.” Batman narrowed his eyes at the man. He didn't trust this guy.

“Wait here.” He growled out dropping him roughly, Sòng hit the wall sliding to the ground.

“Don't even think about it.” Robin smirked as the man tried to get up off the dirty pavement. Bruce walked down the alleyway short distance, out of earshot.

“Oracle.” He spoke opening a link between them.

“Hey, yeah? I'm here, what's up?”

“ Sòng says he has surveillance footage of the Joker requesting the money transfer.” Bruce stated and there was a long pause.

“The Joker? Thats insane.” Barbara stuttered in confusion.

“When is he not?”

“That's a little too far. Even for him.” The girl admitted reluctantly.

“I know, he's destructive, but... Can you hack into Sòng's surveillance? I don't want him triggering any alarms.”

“Give me a second... I'm not getting anything on the network. It could be an offline server.”

“If I hooked you into it could you copy the hard drive?”

“Of course. I'd need to be plugged directly into the server though.”

“I'm on it.”

“I'll be here.” Barbara stated just before Bruce cut the line. Turning around he was meet with the sight of Robin scowling down at the man in disgust, Sòng pleading with the teen to let him go. It was almost sad seeing a grown man plead with a child. Batman stalked back to the pair and the Asian immediately shut up.

“Your servers not online.” The man stared up at the older vigilante, dumbfounded, until Robin stepped towards him menacingly, cocking a fist.

“Yes. Yes. We keep them offline. Unless we need to make transfer. Smaller window.” He gushed cowering into the grime of the ally, covering his face with a pudgy arm, barely fitting in his tailored suit.

“Take me to it, but don't touch anything.” Bruce growled opening the door to the restaurant.

“Yes yes of course.” Sòng stuttered as The Bat hauled him off the ground.

“Want me to babysit?” Robin asked gesturing to the men littering the ground, meeting Bruce's eye without hesitance.

“No. Wrap them up for the GCPD. We'll call it in when we're done.”

“Got it, I'll wrap them tight and join you.” Bruce nodded at the teen's words, shoving the large man into the establishment. By the time Robin had gotten done tying up the other men Batman hadn't really gotten anywhere. Despite slapping the guy around a few more times, the man was just leading him in circles, refusing to tell him where the server was located.

“What's up?” Robin asked as he walked into the kitchen catching sight of Batman's annoyed form, muscles bulging through his suit, his arms crossed staring down towards the floor. Sòng was slumped to the floor, his head resting on a pile of pans stacked in between the counter and the bottom shelf. His face swollen, drool soaking into his shirt, blood streaming down the front of his face, his nose a purple mess.

“He's not talking.” The Dark Knight stated leaning against a counter with his arms crossed, glaring at the man like a sulking child.

“Doesn't look like he can anymore.” Tim joked and the older vigilante leveled the teen with an aggravated glare. Robin laughed shaking his head and punching the man in the arm, meeting solid muscle.

“Don't give me that look. I'll babysit this mess, you go find whatever.” The younger male chuckled taking up Batman's mantle against the counter, shooing him away with a flick of his hand. The Bat glared at him for a few more seconds just for good measure before pushing off of the counter, the metal shifting under his weight.

“Call me if there's trouble.” Bruce stated walking farther into the back of the restaurant.

“Only if I can't handle it.” Robin called back lazily and Batman fought a frown, choosing instead to ignore his partner. Eventually he found a safe, hidden behind some ragged looking boxes. It took a few minutes to crack, then he plugged everything in and booted it up. Once Barbara was plugged in it was only a matter of seconds before they had every incriminating file, folder and deleted text document the computer had ever contained. Bruce let Robin call in the cops as he slowly made his way back to the batmobile. His apprentice would stay out and patrol the streets. The teen had simply given him a knowing look when Batman stated he was going home to inspect the evidence. Robin stuck around long enough to make sure the police showed up to haul the men away, then he took to the roof tops, scouring the city.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Bruce sunk into his chair in the Bat Cave, his cowl resting on the desk beside the keyboard. Barbara was decrypting the files as he rested his leg. He really shouldn't have gone out, but he needed to get to the bottom of this before it blew up in their faces. He should also take some pain medication, but he hated them, how they dulled his senses, so he decided against it. After a few minutes of silence, and rubbing the soreness in his thigh, his computer dinged, the screen lighting up.

“I think you'll want to see this.” Barbara's voice said over the speakers. The detective leaned forward moving the mouse he clicked on the giant play button that popped up on his screen.

Several angles of the restaurant's dining room sprang into view. Patrons sitting around enjoying their meals, staff members rushing around filling drinks and taking orders. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary really. Nothing happened for the next thirty seconds, then a figure strode by the windows, the door slammed open violently and The Joker danced in, his arms opened wide.

“Hell-o Gotham!” He shouted joyfully as men around the room stood up, revealing their hidden weapons, the Clown walked in farther.

“Would you look! At this fine establishment.” The Prince of Crime stated spinning around to take everything in. Stopping he clicked his tongue, leveling the room with a bored stare.

“So, so, so. I!” He placed his gloved hands on his chest in exaggeration, “Need to borrow this room for a little bit so why don't all you little rich folk scamper off home?” He suggested his index and middle finger walking on air towards the door.

“Yeah, hows that sound?” The Joker asked grinning at all of the tables not containing his minions, his arms open like he was inviting them in for a hug. Slowly people crept from their seats and the Joker stepped aside letting the first brave customer creep past him, then they all rush out, shoving each other in a chaotic mess of limbs. The Clown laughed gleefully as they passed him, but nothing more. Bruce frowned, leaning against the armrest, resting his head against his hand. Something was right.

“Great! Now where is, the lovely owner? Yeah?! I got a proposition for him.” The Joker giggled dancing farther into the room. Running a purple gloved hand along a table with a grin. He froze half way across the room, hand still on the table, his smile dropping instantly off his face. His eyes snapped up, fixing the staff members with a piercing glower. He ran his tongue over his teeth, cocking his head.

“No seriously, go get him.” He hissed when none of the wait staff had budged. Rolling his green eyes he clapped his hands together.

“Well come on, chop chop!” The Joker insisted and everyone jumped, rushing out of the room through the back doors, into the kitchen, shoving each other out of the way. Joker inspected his gloved hands as if he could see his nails, waiting. A few minutes later Sòng came in, looking nervous, flanked by several armed men and the air became tense. Everyone held their guns a little more tightly. The Joker licked his lips giving the new arrivals a grin.

“What do you want?” Sòng asked his eyes flicking between his men and The Joker's. The Clown drummed his fingers on top of the table.

“Well let's make this easy, sweetheart. I need some money sent, to a little someone,” The Clown started hopping up onto one of the tables, “And I need you to do it, I hear your the best.” He insisted picking up a fork and stabbing a piece of chicken, he ripped it off the utensil, the slide of teeth against metal audible through the room. He stared the fat Asian down, chewing thoughtfully, while Sòng looked flustered.

“I don't know what your talking about.” He stated and the Joker licked his lips in disappointment, pursing his lips he turned his attention to the ground for a split second. Snapping his eyes up he fixed the overweight Asian with a deadly gaze.

“I, don't feel, like playing games.” He whispered darkly, hopping back off the table, dusting his pants off and straightening his jacket.

“So here's the deal, darling. You're going to transfer fifty thousand dollars to, this,” The Joker pulled a slip of paper out of his jacket pocket, “ Bank account.” The Clown snapped his fingers and one of his men dropped a bag where Song could see it. The zipper open, revealing stacks of money. The Prince of Crime let the paper go, watching it flutter to inside the bag, joining the mound of money.

“That! Contains one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Fifty thousand of it is, yours!” The Joker pointed at the Sòng, like he had just won the grand prize.

“I hear that's more, than your, uh, usual asking price.” He paused clicking his tongue, “In return.” The Joker placed one gloved finger against his scarred ruby lips, the lips that slowly morphed into a sadistic grin, “You don't tell a soul I was here, or requested your, uh, services. When I give you the word you will transfer another fifty thousand, to this bank account, and I'll be out of your hair.” He sung, removing the finger from his lips, both hands soaring through the air, his fingers wriggling in freedom. “So what do you say, sweetheart?” He asked licking his lips, “We have a deal or what?!” The Joker shouted throwing his arms open rocking up onto his tip toes, then back down. Sòng shook his head in frustration, his fat giggling. The Joker scowled in disgust, turning his gaze to the floor, wouldn't do to kill the help.

“Fine. Fine. But if I do this, you never come back here again. If you need to speak with me you do it privately. No more ruining my business.” Sòng chattered out with a scowl. The Joker licked his lips, letting his signature grin spread across his face.

“You've got a deal, sweetheart. Come on boys let's get you home before your missed.” The Prince of Crime said turning his back to the other men, strolling out of the building without a care in the world. Batman paused the video and rewound it, watching it again. Something didn't seem right, but he couldn't figure it out. It was something simple, something that just, he rewound it again, leaning closer.

“Bruce?” Barbara asked after a while. The man grunted in acknowledgment still letting the video play.

“Are you seeing something I'm not? It looks like The Joker to me, as crazy as that is.” She continued her befuddlement easily audible over the speakers.

“There's something off about this. I know the Joker is crazy. If anyone knows that it's me, but he always has an endgame Barbara. I just can't figure out what that is. I don't see what he could gain from killing himself off. Not so literally.”

“I don't know Bruce. Isn't it impossible to understand insanity? Maybe he's just tired of, I don't know, being insane.” She tried trailing off at the end realizing how ridiculous it sounds.

“No. No. His brand of insanity isn't... I don't know. Something is off and I'm going to figure it out.”

“Well don't strain yourself too hard. Sitting around thinking is one thing, but don't go gallivanting all over the city because of this.”

“I won't.” Barbara laughed a little.

“I'll let you know when I believe you.” She joked, still chuckling a bit.

“I'm not that big of a loose cannon am I?” Batman joked back a small smile tugging his lips.

“Lately Bruce...” Barbara started on a more serious note, but then trailed off, leaving them both in an awkward silence.

“I'll let you know if I find anything else on their hard drive.” Barbara tried, attempting to cut the tension.

“Thanks.” Bruce said quietly before Oracle hung up the line. His gaze fell on his cowl, looking ominous, even if it was just sitting on the table. He hated worrying the people around him, but he never could stop from pushing himself. Finding his limits. Maybe Barbara was right. Maybe he was getting too old for this, but he couldn't imagine a life without the suit. Couldn't imagine being just Bruce. That flirtatious, womanizing, dense billionaire. He rewound the video again.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Bruce stared at the man in front of him trying really hard to keep his expression neutral. He loathed when people talked to him like he was a child, he could run circles around them, yet he had to sit there and take it. Yes, it was part of his cover as Bruce Wayne, playboy idiot, but it was still annoying. The Detective had called in a board meeting for the Arkham Asylum comity, knowing full well none of them would show up. Since they never really did, they threw money at the establishment but never ventured there. Bruce Wayne had been the same, but now he had an excuse. A personal vendetta you could say. One that if the media got a hold of could pass. He was here to make sure the Joker didn't escape again.

He fought the urge to scowl at how grimy the place was as he was lead through the halls. “Given the tour” as they called it, but Bruce wasn't going to let them stop at just the fancy areas, that to be honest weren't that fancy. He needed to see the high profile cells. Maximum Security. He needed to see the Joker. Hopefully satisfy his curiosity in the playboy by a visit or two. To be honest the billionaire wasn't quite sure where all the money he had given to this place went. It almost looked the exact same as when he had been here that tragic night The Joker took control of the island. He had donated quite a bit to bring the living conditions of the patients up. Yet he could still smell the damp stench of rotting urine and dried blood. Hell there were still stains in many places where he had smashed inmate's heads against the ground. Gritting his teeth he watched the nervous orderly take him through the halls of the penitentiary, nervous because this place was such a dump. Bruce made a note to get Barbara to scope out their financial records. The man started leading him back to the front gate, the billionaire watched him walk several feet, not even noticing his lack of accompaniment. The man even made it to the door to the next area before Bruce decided to stop him.

“Wait! Wait, wait!” The Detective called after the elder man running after him he shoved his foot in between the door stopping it from shutting locking him in the courtyard, without the man.

“This isn't everything. I need to see the rest.” Bruce stated pulling the door open, to see the startled elder man's face.

“The rest?” The man stuttered looking even more nervous than before.

“Yes. The rest. Now, please.”

“I don't understand quite what you mean. If you'd like to take a look at the garden.” Bruce fought the urge to roll his eyes, shaking his head at the man like he were a child.

“No, Maximum Security, Intensive Care, the Medical Facility. All of it.”

“I'm not authorized to – .” Bruce took a steadying breath, he knew this was going to be irritating, that didn't mean he was okay with it.

“Look I get it.” He said charmingly placing a hand on the man's shoulder. “How about we make a deal? You take these.” Bruce pulled out a few hundred dollar bills, “And you give me that key card.” The playboy stated pulling the key out of the man's shocked hands. He placed the money in the man's palm curling his fingers around it. The old guy stared at the money for a second, befuddled, before leveling Bruce with a concentrated stare.

“If you get hurt or something, it's not my fault.” The orderly grunted shoving the bills into his pocket all the same. As if the playboy wouldn't be able to take care of himself, so he was making sure the billionaire understood he had nothing to do with it, wasn't his responsibility.

“No problem. How far will this get me?” Bruce twirling the card through his fingers, raising an eyebrow at the man.

“Everywhere but Maximum Security, or the labs after it.” The orderly replied casting a paranoid glance around.

“The labs?” The billionaire repeated confused, he didn't remember any labs inside maximum security. They weren't on the old layout of the Asylum. The man didn't say anything to his question and Bruce nodded his head, not willing to press the issue.

“That's fine. I'm sure I can find a way. Thank you for your time.” The Detective said smoothly pushing past the man back into the corridors between the open yards. He made his way outside turning right he quickly covered the lush grounds to Intensive Treatment. Swiping the card at the door he walked inside. Once in he walked forward, meeting the eye of a security guard who gave him a once over, standing up out of his chair safely behind the bullet proof glass security box.

“What are you doing here?” The old guard called as he made his way down the ramp towards the billionaire, and Bruce held up his key card.

“I have permission to be here.” He said waving the card around he walked towards the closed gates. The man scowled stalking towards the billionaire, attempting to tower over his shoulder as the playboy tried to walk down to the gate. It didn't work however since the younger man was just as tall and twice as broad.

“I don't think so pretty boy.” Bruce paused in irritation turning around to face the man, instead of getting aggravated though, maybe he could get something out of this encounter. He was feeling impatient however. The guard stood near him, his hair graying, his face scared, his skin tough and wrinkled, his eyes a dull blue.

“Do you have access to Maximum Security?” The playboy asked flippantly, a pleasant smile on his face, and the guard glared intensely.

“You're not going in there.” Bruce nodded his head slowly, pursing his lips.

“Uh, that's not going to work,” He muttered to himself, “so, would say, five hundred dollars change your mind?” The guard laughed bitterly a scowl of disgust on his face.

“If five hundred could change my mind half of those psychos would be back on the streets.” Bruce actually grinned at that, no acting required. Bruce let the childish playboy go for a second, leveling the man with a serious look, his airy tone dissipating.

“How does a promotion sound. I need men like you running things higher up. If they had your steel, we wouldn't have so many escapees.” The guard scoffed crossing his arms a tight amused smile on his lips.

“Yeah and who are you?” He scoffed giving the billionaire a once over, sizing him up.

“Bruce, Bruce Wayne.” He said holding his hand out to the skeptical guard.

“Hey, that's that billionaire the Joker attacked,” Another guard, still in the security box, called out. Bruce fought off the need to grit his teeth in irritation, settling on a simple nod of his head instead.

“So it was you, you saved him.” The old guy said darkly, hate in his eyes. Bruce took a deep breath staring at the ground for a second, trying to pull in his patience, before meeting the man's eyes again.

“I didn't want to see anyone else die. So yes. I saved him. Now I'm here to make sure he never gets out again. Ever.” The guard laughed running a hand under his nose with a sniff.

“Good luck with that. And how do I know that? Huh? For all I know that reporter chick could be right. You're in league with him, besides what would a stroll down there do for you? Ease your mind? Well don't bother. He'll be out again. He always is.” Bruce exhaled irritatedly through his nose at the man's suspicious tone. Squaring his shoulders he stepped up to the man staring him down.

“Do you know how much money I've donated to this Asylum?” He asked his voice steady, serious, but not deep, not like Batman's.

“No, why should I care?” This time it was Bruce's turn to laugh, shaking his head.

“Have you seen anything improved around here? Anything at all?” The man took a second to think about it, his lips tight, before shaking his head. The playboy nodded a bitter smile gracing his chiseled features.

“Why is that, you think? I've donated hundreds of thousands into fixing this place up. Where does it all go?” He asked gesturing his arms around the establishment.

“So I, am going to take a stroll around. You can pretend like you never saw me and when I get out. I'm going to track down where all that money went and you know what I'm going to do?” Bruce asked stepping into the man's personal space, who raised an amused eyebrow, not backing away from the billionaire like Bruce was used to.

“I'm going to tear this place apart brick by brick until the slime and corruption are sniffed out, then I'm going to burn them to the ground. So, let me ask again. Would you like a promotion, or not?” The man's jaw tightened as he stared down Bruce who didn't budge under his scrutinizing gaze.

“Fine. Fine. It'd be nice to see a change in this place.” The old guard shook his head in disbelief like he couldn't quite believe he was actually letting him in. “I'll hold you to that. If any one of those loonies get out. I'm coming after you.” He said poking Bruce in the chest, surprised when the man didn't shift an inch under the pressure.

“Fair enough.” Bruce stated holding out a hand towards the man. “I do need into Maximum Security. Please.” The guard glared at him, ignoring that outstretched hand, he headed back into the box. The Detective watched him go, unsure of the man's intentions, the guard fumbled around in some drawers, before coming back down the steps, holding a card in his hand.

“Any of them.” He warned holding the card just out of Bruce's reach. The playboy held out his hand again.

“Any of them,” He agreed and the guard dropped the card into his outstretched palm, “and thank you.” Bruce took a few steps away, then thought better of it, turning back to the man.

“What was your name by the way?” He asked and the old guy looked skeptical.

“Mike DuVall.” He finally muttered his face sour at the revelation of that piece of information. Almost like he wanted to take it back.

“Well thank you, Mr. DuVall.” Bruce insisted as he slipped towards the gate.

“You can thank me if you make it out sane.” The guard called after him, and the playboy waved back at him with a small salute, the gate closing behind him.

Bruce made his way through the various security points, being let through every one of them the instant he flashed the card. Finally The Detective stood in front of the door leading to Maximum Security, the guards stationed there gave him confused looks.

“You want us to go in with you? You shouldn't be in there alone.” One of them muttered to him as he opened the door with the card.

“I'll be fine. Thank you though.” He said and the guard scoffed shuffling his feet.

“Your funeral.” He muttered resuming his post.

Bruce walked into a metal hallway, he had made it several steps in before he realized that there were cells on either side of him. Metal doors blended seamlessly into the walls. Curious he tapped on a metal panel, barely sticking out from the rest of the metal, it popped open a scanner and keypad suddenly revealed. He closed it and looked at the supposed door to the cell some more. The only view into the rooms being a small sliding window, a little lower than eye view for him. Not wanting to check them all just yet, The Detective skipped those cells continuing his way through the hall, towards the open room ahead, he kept walking until he heard the sound he was looking for. That cackling laughter that was unique to the Joker alone, he had stepped out of the hallway into the larger room and was instantly met with the howling laughter. There was a choking sound and the giggles cut off into a groan of pain. In front of him was a strange electric looking device that took up the center of the room. A short railing wrapping around it to keep people away.

“Ah, that still hurts.” A voice whined quietly and Bruce turned towards the sound, but not before noticing a half finished cell on his right, a metal high tech door across the room.

“Hey there Princess! Miss me? Oh I know you did. What am I saying?! You came to say hello! Maybe pick up on our little, play date? Oh the playing we would do.” The Joker giggled sounding distant. The Clown was trapped behind a large glass window, keeping the crazy inside, but visible at all times. The only blind spot appeared to be the steel door leading into the cell, the same steel doors as the countless ones he passed in the hallway. Ignoring the madman, Bruce walked up to the glass, tapping it a few times. It made no sound, no echo, no vibration. He glanced up at the vent above the cell, the origin of the Joker's voice, the reason it sounded so distant, had a little echo. This was some heavy duty blast proof glass, he nodded his head in appreciation, at least they bought something right.

“Awwww come on Bru-Bru don't be like that. Say something.”He whined tossing his green hair back, his head hitting the wall behind him in frustration.

“It was nothing personal I swear!” The Billionaire finally turned his attention to the Joker, who was sitting on a cot, the only furniture in the white room. The thick metal frame was welded into the floor. The mattress, basically plastic covered padding, had metal wires criss-crossing through it like a mesh. That seemed a little dangerous in Bruce's opinion, but the Joker was in a straitjacket, rocking back and forth on his bed. Unable to pick at them, for now. The Clown smirked, slipping lithely off the bed, he padded his way to the window, only flinching slightly as he straightened up. He set his forehead against the glass pressing as close to Bruce as possible, his eyes half lidded.

“Tell me you're here to see me, little dove.” The Clown asked his voice barely carrying through the vent, Bruce didn't answer. The Joker closed his eyes, banging his head against the glass once, licking his lips, when his visitor remained silent. Opening those vivid green eyes he leveled the playboy with an icy stare, his red lips parting. Bruce met those eyes taking in the intelligent insanity, that sober soul piercing gaze.

“I'm here to make sure you never escape again.” Bruce stated after several seconds of unblinking contact, backing away from the glass a bit. The Joker tilted his head up, his nose pressed against the glass.

“Oh ho ho. Good luck with that dream-boat! The doctors here don't really favor my, presence, if you, uh, catch my drift.” The Joker grinned with a dark chuckle, pulling his head away from the glass leaving an oily smear behind.

“Thats where I'll start then.” The billionaire said defiantly, before remembering exactly why he was here, and what he was supposed to be doing. The Joker always made him forget who he was. The Clown tutted shaking his head at him.

“Oh, they won't like that. They won't like that at all.” He pressed back against the glass. “I! Would suggest you didn't! I like you! I'd hate to see you go!” He pushed away from the glass with his head, moving to pace across his cell, feral, like a jaguar pacing in a cage, a smirk on his face, eye never leaving their prey. Bruce frowned and crossed his arms defiantly. Then second guessed himself. He needed to convince the Joker he wasn't a threat. Or interesting. He let his arms fall against his sides. God he really didn't know what he was doing here. He could play, womanizer, moron, tough guy, vigilante, but he didn't know how to play boring. The smirk dropped off the madman's face and he froze mid step, tilting his head, he slid back up to the window a scowl on his face.

“Don't!” He slammed his head against the window. Bruce winced for him, that had to hurt. The only sound being the slapping of flesh through the vent. “Do that.” He hissed through gritted teeth fixing the playboy with an angry glare. Bruce frowned in confusion, not even sure what the Clown was talking about anymore.

“I have the money. I can easily buy out this entire place. Make sure you never get out.” Bruce guessed, the madman growled twisting his forehead on the glass.

“They will, kill you,” He sung giving Bruce a once over, he suddenly slammed his body against the glass. “And stop with the fidgeting! Just act natural, twinkle toes.” The Joker insisted letting his head slam against the glass again, he slid his forehead down the window a little, the screeching friction of damp flesh against the smooth plain creeping out of the vent.

“Just be, your defiant gallant, little self.” He insisted meeting Bruce's guarded blue eyes, his head nodding enthusiastically. “Ah!” He shouted jumping away from the window with his sudden epiphany. “Thank you! By the way, for saving little ol' me. Wish I could have been awake for the fun parts. I have to admit, I've died one too many times, don't you think?” He added with a giggle, snuggling up to the glass again. The billionaire gritted his teeth.

“It wasn't my intention.” Bruce stated blandly with tight lips.

“Sure it wasn't. I read the papers handsome, I know what you said, what they, think.” The Joker leaned away from the glass with a knowing smirk.

“You get papers in here?” Bruce asked in actual curiosity. Wouldn't even that be dangerous in some way? The madman's grin slipped from his face as he sized the playboy up, his deranged green eyes sharpening, as he calculated his response, no, the playboys deserved answer. An amused smile broke across those scarred lips after a few moments. The Joker cocked his head to the side stepping away from the window.

“For a price.” The Joker admitted, lucid eyes trained on the playboy as he stalked down his cell, following Bruce as the man walked down a little ways, trying to see just how much of a blind spot that door was, if it was something he should be worried about. Annoyed that he had lost the man's attention Joker spoke again.

“Why are you here, Billion-boy?” The Clown asked sensually pressing himself back against the glass near The Detective.

“I told you. I'm here to make sure – .” There was a sliding of gates, grinding of metal and the door across the room started sliding open.

“That'll be our resident doctor! I'd suggest, you make yourself scarce beautiful. She's not the nicest Doc around.” He warned with a wink. Bruce looked around at the empty hall behind him, the empty room around him. The only place he could even attempt to hid would be behind the strange electric conductor stationed in the middle of the room, it would be a tight space though, his shoulders too broad, and he could hear multiple voices coming through the now open door. He'd be able to hide from one person's sight with the device, not multiple. Quickly narrowing down his options he dashed forward, clicking the metal plate open, sliding the key card across The Joker's door. The Clown squealed with delight.

“Two six nine, eight four six, three seven five, nine one four two.” The Joker recited quickly, and Bruce punched the numbers in, not even stopping to wonder how the madman knew them, slipping inside just before the group caught sight of him. The Joker visibly shivered with pleasure, holding back the laughter as, what Bruce assumed to be, the doctor and some guards entered his view. The billionaire pressed himself against the door hoping that small blind spot would be enough for him. The Joker kept his attention locked on someone outside the cell, doing nothing to betray Bruce's presence. The room smelled like sweat, blood and burnt metal. He could hear the slight hitch in the Joker's breathing from his injury now that he was in the room, the small stitch in his breaths.

“Hello doctor, how are you this, fine, evening?” The Joker asked pressing himself against the glass again, but not quite as close as before.

“Joker. I'm surprised to see you conscious.” An older woman said and the Joker snickered.

“I am too! To be, completely, honest. Love, love, love! This new cage you've put me in. It seems my style. Rather, Wicked!” He grinned at her his eyes wide, psychotic, his grin over bearing, tight.

“I thought you'd like it.” The woman stated venomously.

“Well yes, but Dr. Hannibal, you should know!” He stage whispered as if letting her in on a great secret, looking around dramatically. “You can only cure crazy this way!” He stated as if it she were batty for the idea.

“Which you are.” She replied dryly completely unamused with him.

“That's a point of perspective don't you think? I mean, to me. You're all mad as the Hatter. I mean look at you. Full of greed and personal gain! Let it go pumpkin, it makes life easier.” He finished shrilly as if they had spoken of this before and the doctor just wasn't quite getting it.

“Greed.” The doctor stated as though mulling over the title. “Maybe.” She laughed a little.

“Tell me, you've always seemed pretty obsessed with that sin, why is that? What is it about greed that makes you so... Mad?” She emphasized the last word, showing she meant both meanings of the word. The Joker shook his head leaning a little away from the window with a dramatic sigh. A dark amused chuckle left his lips. He fixed the doctor with a soul shattering stare, his eyes holding an eerie completely sane intelligence. He leaned forward biting his lip, letting his head gently rest against the glass.

“Tell me, doctor.” He said his voice deepening, dropping all of the vibrant crazy. “What is, Insanity?” The Joker asked emphasizing the word with a crinkle of his nose. The woman scoffed, annoyed.

“It's a disease, that festers in the soul, rotting the body from the inside out.” She answered as if this was a mantra she spoke daily, taught people like it was a religion. Like it was a fact, that everyone should know, live by. The Joker's chuckle was deep, slowly and steadily getting louder, but remaining just as dark. He inhaled suddenly through his teeth. Letting out one last snicker. He tilted his head to the side, a winning smirk sliding across his face.

“And that! My dear doctor. Is your answer.” He whispered darkly, knowingly, his chuckle picking back up until it was almost his usual cackle, almost.

“Because you're insane?”

“Because greed is, by your definition, insanity.” The Clown countered and the woman fell silent.

“You have a lovely evening, doctor.” The Joker called out to her when she had no reply, enunciating the last word with amusement he backed away from the window. There was a very long pause on either side. The Joker never blinking as he watched his audience, a smug look on his face. Finally someone took a deep breath outside the cell.

“You seem rather talkative today. Is there a reason why?” The woman stated, obviously changing the subject.

“Did you hear your little Bruce came to visit? It's a shame he didn't come to see you.” The doctor taunted.

“Like he would. Your the craziest one in here, and the ugliest.” The Joker made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat.

“Again, I, think that's debatable. I mean have you looked at this mug, it's a show stopper.” The Joker replied his eyes deadly as he stared the doctor down.

“Good thing mad men's opinions aren't counted. Let's go boys. We have other things to do then talk with the scenery.” High heels clicked through the room, three pairs of boots matching her stride.

“Yet Einstein is so revered.” The Joker tacked on with a haughty grin.

“I think he actually got you there doc.” A man whispered jokingly, barely audible through the vent. The clicking of heels stopped, a tense silence conquered the room. A zapping noise, one Bruce knew was from a taser echoed through the vent. A body hit the floor painfully, spasming a few times.

“Take him to Croc. I don't need men like him around, and we're running low on supplies.” The woman muttered darkly, accompanied by shuffling of boots.

“Right away.” A voice answered, the Joker broke out in a cackle for a few seconds, coughing and curling into himself as his lungs constricted him once more. The woman outside the cell laughed bitterly.

“Don't strain yourself kid.” The woman sneered, “On better thought do. Like I said, we're running low on supplies.”

“Oh you know I won't be around long enough for that. I have someone waiting for me! Oh and he is anxious to see me. It's been so loooong!” The Joker whined tossing his head back dramatically.

“Thank god at that, you and your caped rodent can do whatever you like, just stay out of here. You bring too much heat to Arkham.”

“Watch it sister, only I get to insult my... other half” Joker stated with a glare, gritting his teeth, and the woman laughed.

“Enjoy your stay kid. Glad you like the new cell.” She called to him, her high heels clicking away and Bruce let out a strained sigh of relief. The Joker hadn't been lying, about any of it, he needed to save that man. He mentally shook himself, would he make it in time? No. He'd get caught and be in the same boat, okay it would be a ship, he is Batman, but still. It was better to get out of here and start tearing the foundation apart, starting with that doctor. Suddenly Bruce was painfully aware of his surroundings, it was just him and the Joker, in a locked room together. The madman had fixed him with a fascinated, wide eyed stare, a small smirk tugging at his lips. He bounced back onto his cot giddily, cocking his head to the side with a small chuckle.

“Oh! If only she knew! You were right here! In my cell! She'd be so jealous!” He tittered bouncing in his seat, squirming around in his jacket.

“Like the place? I'd decorate it! Buuuut, my options are pretty limited. Though to be honest, I think the – .” The Joker broke off with a feral growl then a small irritated laugh.

“He would approve. Definitely, it's a pretty high tech cage.” He finished nodding his head, giving the playboy a strained smile.

“He? He who? Batman?” Bruce guessed and wished he hadn't. Pain shot through his legs and up his body, frying his insides. Seizing he collapsed against the wall, gripping his abdomen he slid to the ground, disoriented. The Joker's shriek turned into laughter, cutting through his stinging pain.

“Do, do, do not! Say that!” The Clown giggled as if they had just got off a ride he had suggested they didn't take. “Or! K. I. Double L, Oh, oh, Redrum backwards! Definitely! Not, that one.” He tried to laugh again but just ended up coughing weakly.

“What the hell was that?” Bruce asked gruffly, letting out a few coughs of his own, his insides feeling sluggish.

“The floor, is on an electric circuit. It has, uh, trigger words.” The Joker said excitedly. “Think of it as negative reinforcement for the criminally insane!”

“That's inhuman.” Bruce exhaled placing his hand against the wall, he took a deep breath, before he attempted to push himself up, groaning in pain.

“Ever the hero.” The Joker whispered darkly, watching the playboys every move. Bruce pushed away from the floor a little, his muscles protesting loudly. There was a creak and suddenly the Joker was on him, one pale hand jamming purposefully into his injured thigh. The Detective cried out in pain, his leg spasming, his back slamming against the wall again. Falling back to the ground, he slammed his fist into that pale scarred face, sending the lithe man flying across the cell away from him.

“What the fuck?!” Bruce yelled gripping his injured leg. Blood seeped through his pant leg. The Joker started with a low laugh, breaking out into maniacal laughter, before having to cut it short again, with pained gasps. The green haired monster was on his hands and knees now, lifting his head up he leveled Bruce with a feral grin, blood trailing down his chin. Realizing he just socked the madman in the face Bruce tried to play it off dramatically shaking his hand in pain, adding a little hiss for effect. The Joker swiped one straitjacket covered hand across his mouth wiping the blood away. He sat back on his haunches, cocking his head predatorily at the playboy a small knowing look marring his pale features, his lips thin as he took in the man in front of him.

“Tell me, Bruce, why does a billionaire, playboy, philanthropist need to hide his injury from the world at large?” The Joker emphasized the last word licking his lips hungrily. The secret vigilante held the panic at bay sorting through how to handle this situation. God what if he already knew? The Clown took a deep breath.

“Riddle, me this,” The Joker exhaled, his eyes wide, never blinking, watching Bruce's face closely for any sign of recognition to the saying. Bruce kept his face a blank confused, irritated, he wasn't really sure anymore, but he didn't take the bait, didn't show the recognition.

“How does a ditzy, self absorbed, womanizer get caught cheating on woman once every three to four months and yet!” The Clown exclaimed lifting his index fingers up as he paused for dramatic effect, shimmying the sleeves down his arms, which took a second, until his hands were visible. “Can easily,” His fingers dropped, “hide a shot wound from the media?” Bruce laughed bitterly, shaking his head in disbelief.

“The last thing I needed was to be placed in some romantic story with you. I could gag at the head lines. Bruce and Clown lover – .”

“Joker and playboy lover.” Joker corrected.

“Shot tragically by the same bullet.” Said playboy finished with a sneer, The Joker pursed his lips at his words.

“And I only get, caught, every once in awhile, instead of every time.” Bruce continued emphasizing the word caught. The Clown pouted in disappointment an irritated glare leveled on the billionaire.

“I've been at this long enough to know how to hide my problems.” He finished as if it were obvious, but The Joker didn't look quite convinced. The madman took in a deep breath, then stopped, letting the breath out in an irritated huff, he squinted his eyes at the billionaire, tilting his head another direction he opened his mouth, then snapped it close. He huffed again.

“You know...” The Clown trailed off, depressed, his shoulder slumped. His eyes lingered on the ground for a few seconds, pouting, then a feral grin ate its way across his face. He jumped up suddenly, before The Detective could take the time to stand up, stalking towards Bruce briskly, his eyes trailing from the man's boots up his body. The playboy tensed unable to move much, his muscles still processing the earlier shock.

“Why,” he walked closer, “Is it,” he kept his eyes from meeting Bruce's as the billionaire put his hand back onto the wall unsure of how steady his legs would be if he tried to stand up. He could take the Joker, but he didn't want to. That would just cement any idea the madman had of his identity. He should make a break for it, get out of the cell, but the Joker would be on him in seconds, and he wasn't willing to turn his back on the madman to attempt it. Then the Clown was too close to try.

“That your. Not.” The Joker whispered, placing both of his hands on the wall above Bruce's head, his feet on either side of the man's outstretched injured one. Bruce looked up at the Clown, his green eyes hidden by a halo of faded green hair, his lips parted, revealing yellowing teeth, instead of his usual bleached ones.

“Scared,” The Joker whispered, tilting his head up, finally meeting his eye. “Of me.” The madman finished with a sensual smirk, slipping down the wall and into Bruce's lap, his hands trailing lovingly down the wall. Bruce tensed, pale hands framed his head, his dark hair contrasting violently with the white wrists. The Joker didn't place his weight on him, refusing to lose his advantage over the male. One of Bruce's arms was against the wall, ready to push himself up at any moment, the other held his injured leg, hoping the Joker wouldn't go for it. The secret vigilante wanted nothing more then to smash that scared face in with his forehead, instead he settled for giving the Joker what he wanted. That was it wasn't it? The Joker loved when people feared him, loved to look down on them. See them as lesser beings. It was difficult and, probably, not entirely convincing, Bruce had spent years perfecting his fear of nothing. He let his eyes widen and his breath quicken. Let his hand slip panicked against the wall as he stared up into those gleeful green eyes.

“Ah.” Joker exhaled, closing his eyes with a little nod, one palm leaving the wall to twirl between dark strands.

“There it is.” The eyes opened, fingers traced playfully around the shell of his ear, “The fear,” he spoke the word like it was a lover, his fingers left to trail down Bruce's masculine jawline, the madman leaned in closer. His breath ghosting across the playboy's lips, reeking of days without care, the Detective could smell the stomach acid eating away at The Joker's insides. Bruce stared into those vivid green eyes, hoping to god he wouldn't have to beat the shit out of the Clown to get out of this alive. Ruby lips, even without the paint, parted and their breaths mingled for a second, the Clown's eyes half lidded. Suddenly the Joker scowled, his scars twisting, his hands shot down, gripping Bruce's throat, squeezing tightly. The Detective startled back, his head slamming against the wall, coughing, his hands clawing at the Joker's grip. They toppled sideways as he wrenched at those hands, attempting to get free, gasping for air. The Joker sneered down at him, his hands tightening, finally letting his full weight lay upon the playboys abdomen as he pressed down harder. Bruce scowled back, his own fingers digging at the Joker's, he shifted his feet underneath him, getting ready to throw the madman off , when the door behind him opened suddenly.

“Back it up freak.” A gruff voice said, and the Joker released his hold reluctantly, sliding away from Bruce, letting his hands trail down the man's shirt, over his hidden muscles. The playboy gasped for air one hand gently cradling his neck, the other slapped against the ground helping him move.

“You have some death wish rich boy.” Still coughing Bruce turned over onto his stomach, pushing to his hands and knees. Looking up he found Miles Duvall aiming a gun steadily at the Joker. Painfully the billionaire slowly got to his feet playing up how injured he was, well how much it affected him anyway. He leaned against the wall for support, sending the man a pitiful, yet thankful, look.

“Thanks.” Bruce ground out painfully, making sure to keep his voice from dropping low, deep, guttural like the Bats.

“Yeah just get out. Why I ever thought you would be useful is beyond me. You're just some dumbass pretty boy who thinks he can buy the world. Just give me the damn card and get out.” Bruce nodded his head vaguely patting his jacket down. He didn't have the key, of course he didn't have the key. He turned slowly to level the Joker with a blank stare. The guard followed his gaze, his hand tightening on the gun.

“Hand it over, unlike this guy I don't have a problem with dropping you dead, and making sure you stay that way.” He grunted tightening his finger on the trigger. The Joker huffed in irritation, holding out the card.

“You ruin all the fun Griffins. One of these times, I will, actually, kill you when I get out. Wouldn't that be fun? I think we should make a date of it!” The madman hissed, leveling the guard with a sneer.

“Yeah keep trying.” Duvall sneered back pocketing the key card, his gun never leaving The Joker.

“Will do Gandalf.” The Joker winked half heartedly, slumping back onto his bed, his breathing labored. Bruce slipped out of the cell and the man shut the door behind them. The guard made his way towards the exit, muttering about changing the code. Bruce followed sending one last look back, only to find the Joker pressed against the glass again, a calculating look in his eye. Realizing the attention, the madman kissed the glass sweetly, leaving a smear of blood and spit behind. Reaching a finger up he drew it into a rickety smiley face, his own grin coming out to match it as he enthusiastically waved goodbye to the pair.

“He needs to be re-strapped.” Bruce grunted in annoyance at The Joker's boundless energy.

“It's pointless. He only leaves himself in that straitjacket for fun.” Duvall muttered opening the doors out of the building, he escorted Bruce in silence to the front gates, not letting the man start a defend his actions. He made sure the playboy drove off before he returned to his duties. The last thing he needed was for Dr. Mengele to find the kid.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Once Bruce got to his car he immediately called Barbara, pulling out of the Asylum's parking lot, watching the old guard make his way back into the establishment.

“Ummm isn't it a little early?” Barbara wondered, answering on the third ring.

“No.” Bruce stated darkly. “I need your help.”

“Yeah.” She said as if that were obvious. There was a pause.

“Bruce are you okay.” There was another bout of silence.

“I think he knows.” The Detective finally admitted, another pause.

“You didn't actually go to the Asylum did you?” Oracle groaned his disbelief easily audible through the phone.

“Bruce?” She tried again, then sighed.

“You did. Didn't you? What happened?” Bruce took a deep breath.

“It doesn't matter. I need you to uncover their finances. I want to know where every penny of their donations have gone, I want background checks on all of the staff. Every one of them. Family history, high school records, warnings, strange vacations, anything out of the ordinary I want to know about it.”

“Okay, Bruce. What happened?” She asked worried.

“Something's wrong with that place Barbara. There's a reason criminals keep escaping. I practically just bought my way into Maximum Security. Hell the doctor admitted she wanted The Joker out of there, said he brought the place too much heat.” He scoffed his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

“Bruce, we've been over this, that isn't something you can fund.”

“No. I couldn't fund.” He corrected her. “I can now. Bruce Wayne has a personal reason to get invested. I can do this.”

“Personally? Bruce. You don't do anything personal. You hire people to do it for you.” Barbara insisted, her heart clenching at the hope in Bruce's tone.

“Well maybe that should change. Just this once.” Barbara sighed again, knowing that Bruce's stubbornness would win out in the end. There was nothing she could say that would stop him.

“The media will have a field day.” There was a long pause.

“Let them.” He muttered darkly turning his car towards the courthouse.

By daybreak the next morning Bruce Wayne was the proud new owner of Arkham Asylum and damn did it feel good. He could finally control where his enemies went, and when they got out.

Yet a small part of him, one deep inside wasn't too sure about this plan, or the outcome.

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

Duh duh duh! Wherever shall I go with this. Bahahaha. The next chapter will probably be pretty long too. I got a portion of it done while writing this one and I was like jesus... this is long. I should make the next chapter this stuff.

ANYWHO! Kudos, Reviews, blah blah blah comments. Love. Give me love! Feed the monster.


	4. Bats, Cats, and Coo Coo Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce goes to clean up Arkham.

Sup. Stuff. Notes. Robins in this one again. I'm almost 100% certain he's OOC but idk how they act so eh. Let me know if it bugs you.

Shattered Identities

Chapter 4

Bats, Cats, and Coo Coo Toys

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The Asylum hadn't changed much in a day, still run down, decrepit and full of corruption. Bruce had let them give him the run around for the last three hours, it wasn't a big deal. Barbara was already hacking into all of their systems and surveillances. Without the Joker to cut them off, it was almost a walk in the park for her. So he let the new warden, top doctor, Dr. Mengele lead him in circles, he couldn't quite figure out what her angle was. Why was she doing this? What was she even doing?

“Bruce.” Oracle spoke into his ear piece and he smiled at the Warden acting like he was listening to whatever bullshit she was rambling off at the moment. She was sucking up to him, but he could see how livid she was underneath. How inconvenient his presence was to her. She turned out to be an older woman, mid forties, her hair was short dirty blonde. The kind you see on soccer moms who just didn't have time anymore. Her brow creased with worry lines, her cheeks deep from frowns. She had thin tight, pale lips and glassy eyes. Her smile never met those eyes, that held more intelligence in them when she thought Bruce wasn't watching.

“Some men went into the labs of the Intensive Care Facility. I don't have camera's in there. It seems they were removed. They're not even connected to the system anymore. Speaking of the system, it had a virus in it for anyone who came looking, I'm still dismantling it. Whatever they have down there, or in the labs past Maximum Security, if there are labs, they don't want us to see.” She explained with a hint of frustration. Bruce supposed that was his queue to get something done. Falling into step with the woman instead of lagging behind her, he took control of the situation.

“The Intensive Care. I hear that's an exciting build. Can we visit there next?” Bruce spoke up leveling his gaze on the petite woman leading him around, the same doctor who had that man thrown to Croc not even yesterday, the woman he was going to tear down and make sure she never had a career in medicine again.

“I think that will be our last stop. How about we go to the medical facility next?” The woman replied cheerfully leveling him with a fake smile.

“How about, you stop leading me in circles, and just show me what you're hiding?” Bruce leveled her with a steady gaze, this would be so much easier as Batman. He could tie her up and tear this place apart physically, while his teammate tore it apart cyberly.

“Bruce.” Barbara spoke up a disgruntled shock to her voice. “The inmate's they're moving in max security right now, they don't exist in the database. Bruce. Half these people shouldn't even be here.” The Detective's gaze turned dark. This little game was over.

“Lock it down. Everything.” He hissed, angrily ripping the key card out of the Warden's grasp. Sliding of metal and clanking of locks echoed around them as Barbara over road the system. The doctor gasped in surprise, spinning in circles as all of the door locks clicked into place. She leveled him with the most honest look she had given him all day, loathing.

“What did you do?” Mengele snarled at him and he took a step away from her, slipping the now useless card into his jacket pocket. Just for effect.

“I think it's my turn to do the leading. You can come or stay, either way you're stuck in the Asylum until I decide otherwise.” Bruce informed her, a small smirk at her displeasure gracing his masculine features.

“How are you doing this?” She asked him with a scowl that twisted her face, making her look older then she was. Bruce chuckled turning away from her, he started towards the exit of the gardens, which they had spent the last hour “admiring.”

“I've hired some friends.” He muttered the doors opening for him as he met them, no key card needed.

“Let's take a little stroll.” Bruce smirked, he made his way to the Intensive Care Facility with the good doctor trailing behind him, completely livid. Bruce dreaded walking through the Joker's containment room, but they had no choice. He could feel Mengele's heated glare on the back of his head as he made his way silently through the facility. The billionaire ignored the questions that were asked of them as they passed. It was obvious to everyone they were the only ones who could go anywhere. Bruce simply stated that they were on lock down, the doctor giving him a sour look. Many guards and workers they passed looked scared, while others looked satisfied at the situation, and the Detective made a note of them. They were coming up on the Joker's cell, the clicking of the doctors heels echoing through the hall as they neared.

“Hey! Whats going on Einstein? You're cramping my style right now? How am I supposed to get out if even you can't leave?!” The Joker's voice called from down the hall, accompanied by a short cackling laugh. The Clown was still chuckling when they passed into the threshold. A great inhale was heard, and the Joker jumped from his spot on the bed, rushing to the window, his skin pressing against the glass. The window still had the morbid smile dried onto it, oil smears littering the clear surface.

“Oh!” He squealed, “I knew you'd come back! Bruce babe! I missed you.” The Joker whined grinning darkly from his cell. Pressing himself against the glass, he kissed the window drawing a smile despite the lack of blood this time. Bruce ignored him walking farther through the room, up to the door he presumed was for the new labs. Whatever was behind this door he would figure it out. Stop it, fix it, the Joker growled in the background not appreciating being ignored by the well dressed playboy.

“That's where the camera's stop Bruce. I can't help you anymore. I, really don't think you should do this.” Barbara pressed the worry evident in her voice.

“I do feel a little under dressed.” Bruce whispered with dry humor and she gave an equally dry laugh.

“You wanted to be Bruce Wayne.” Yeah he did, because he could.

“Come on precious! What's a little asphyxiation kink between friends, huh?” There was a short pause, and a growl of irritation when the playboy didn't pay attention to him. Flesh slammed against the glass in frustration.

“I wouldn't go down there if I were you Brucy-Bru.” Bruce turned towards the madman, taking in his sardonic smile, unbuckled straitjacket and frizzy hair.

“You never know what the wicked doctor has cooked up for you in her, uh, cesspool of a lab.” The Joker growled out, Bruce could tell Dr. Mengele attempted not to freeze up at his words. The Detective met the madman's eyes, full of that crazed intelligence, and Bruce wondered if maybe this wasn't such a good idea. He wanted it done, he wanted to do it himself, but he wasn't Batman, no matter how much he felt inside, Batman was a suit, Bruce was flesh and blood.

“Insane until the last.” The doctor laughed, brushing off the Clown's words. Bruce leveled her with a disgusted stare, scoffing.

“Then it's sad I believe him more than you.” He whispered turning away from her, his attention back on the door.

“Maybe you belong in here then.” She hissed at him and he smirked at her.

“Well, I do own the place. Maybe I should make Arkham manor a pastime retreat. Oh but, you're living there right now aren't you?” Bruce taunted tilting his head towards her to take in the woman's livid expression, this door was taking Barbara longer than the others. Eventually the door ground open, and the doctor couldn't keep the shock and fear off her face. Bruce frowned, turning fully towards the woman, it felt good to do something right, and maybe he was getting carried away, but he couldn't help it.

“You know, I think we got off on the wrong foot. Let's start over, I'm Bruce Wayne.” The playboy smiled sweetly, holding out a hand for the angry woman to shake. She stared at it for a second sizing him up, her lips a thin line of distaste. The Clown slammed a hand against the glass, starting up a steady bang with his forehead, when he didn't get the attention he needed.

“Elena Mengele.” She finally stated taking his hand roughly in her own. Bruce's gave her his most dashing smile and the Joker growled in the background, muttering to himself.

“Its nice to meet you Elena.” There was a small pause between them. He stared into her dead eyes, she stared back determinedly. When he just sat there looking sweet she finally started to reply.

“You as w – .” Bruce cut her off with a smirk, raising a finger into her face.

“Oh, you're fired and your doctorate is up for evaluation.” The Joker cackled in the background as the Philanthropist turned to make his way down the new hall leaving the woman dumbfounded behind him. He smiled to himself as he strode down the small hallway towards the next door, where the hall took a turn, thinking that maybe cracking some jokes in front of the Joker wasn't a great idea. The Clown's laughter broke off abruptly, eerie silence reigning through the room. Where was her heels?

“Bruce!” The Joker shouted after him, just in time for him to turn around, the door clanked and he took a step back. It slowly slid shut behind him before he could move, a smirk on the woman's face as she type into her cellphone. The door closed with finality and the billionaire's stomach sank.

“Barbara cut all cellphone transmissions.” Bruce tried quickly dashing down the hall, he turned the corner, he needed to find somewhere to hide. Something to hold. He should have shut down the weapon check when he showed up. Slipped something in.

“Oracle?” He called loudly coming to a metal door, it was locked of course, and suddenly the world tilted. The ground shaking violently, he fell sideways into the door, his ears ringing. Somewhere on the island something had exploded rocking the foundation.

“Oracle?” He tried again, moving farther down the steel hall afraid another explosion would hit closer to home. Finding nothing but locked doors as he went.

“Bru – Bruce?” Barbara's voice cut through, static attacking her transmission. He was getting tired of closed doors.

“Barbara!” The billionaire answered trying more doors lining the halls. He stopped briefly taking in the blood and gore through a windowed door, it looked almost like a surgical room, he couldn't see enough of it to tell.

“Bruce! The – static – facility – every where not – tentry – Bruce did you – static – hear me? Bruce?”

“You're cutting out.” Bruce stated making his way past the closed doors, trying to find one that wasn't locked, he could hear shouts coming from farther down the hall. He didn't have much time. A sudden crackle echoed through the hall as speakers turned on, Dr. Mengele's voice echoing through the building.

“Hello Arkham staff and inmates, I've given you all free reign. While you're running around wreaking havoc, keep in mind that the person who kills Bruce Wayne or the Joker will be rewarded, promotion or freedom, depending on your position. Good hunting.” Her voice cut off and Bruce realized that this situation just got ten times harder.

“Bruce? I boosted the signal. Can you hear me?” Barbara tried again, her voice clearer but still a little fuzzy in spots.

“Yeah I can.” He replied shoving his body against another door, the voices growing closer, the metal wouldn't budge, there was no where he could jump to, no vents overhead. This wasn't going his way.

“Where are you?” Barbara asked her voice full of worry.

“In a hallway. Just past the door. What was that explosion? Whats happening?”

“Bruce you need to get out of there. Don't worry about anything else, alright? You can come back geared up, but don't stop until then.” Bruce let out an irritated growl, he needed to know. Finally he found a utility closet that wasn't locked, slipping inside he shut the door, a man's screams pierced the hallway mere seconds later. Letting his eyes adjust he noticed a ventilation shaft big enough for him near the ceiling, the room was small, cluttered by decaying cleaning supplies, broken brooms and rusting containers. The screams grew in number, gunshots echoed into the room through the closed door.

“Barbara, I need to know what happened.” He insisted snatching up a bucket he arranged it beneath the grate, wiping gunk off his hands onto his expensive pants.

“My lock down was cut off. The entire Intensive Care Facility is unlocked, everything Bruce. The cells, the gates, it's a madhouse in there. So is the rest of the asylum, I'd give you good news but there really isn't any. I'm calling police back up right now, but they won't be there for several minutes, if at that. Bruce you need to get out.”

“I got it.” Bruce said irritated, trying to pull the screws out of the grate when ripping it from the sockets only served to cut up his hands. The batman suit really was useful. Taking a quick glance around the room he found an object that fit into the sockets. It was still slow work. Screams echoed down the hallway.

“Bruce?” Barbara spoke up as the screams died down again.

“What?”

“Don't be a hero. Let Batman do that work.”

“I'll get out Barbara.” Bruce stated flatly, he got the picture already.

“Good, because the Joker's trying to follow you. Lucky, or, unluckily, the door doesn't seem to be opening, I think your section is still locked down.” Bruce opened his mouth to comment when down the hall wretched screams and more gunshots sounded.

“Bruce don't.” Oracle insisted, the pain at the chance of losing the Detective audible in her voice.

“I wasn't going to.” Bruce reassured her, she was right, the fact that he couldn't get this stupid grate off was just proof that despite how he felt, Bruce Wayne wasn't Batman.

“Whatever she has down there, she locked you in for a reason.” She added, the screams sounded louder this time, closer, inhuman almost. He was twisting the last screw off when a screech came from just outside the door. He clicked Barbara off, refusing to listen to her mothering while stuffed in a vent. He quietly removed the grate from its rusted position. The sounds in the hall went silent, shuffling could be heard, and something pressed against the door, jarring it, blocking out the light streaming beneath. Bruce hauled himself up into the dirty shaft keeping one hand on the grate, ignoring the feel of spiderwebs across his skin. Whatever was in the hall took long labored sniffs at the door, shifting his position he accidentally scraped his arm against the rusted side, drawing blood. A feral growl emanated from outside the room. The billionaire juggled the grate back into place just as the door knob turned.

In walked a definite crazy, but not one he had ever seen before. It's eyes were wide, animalistic, it's face and body covered in blood. It, he, was short and skeletal, his ragged shirt hung off a thin body. Bruce stared in horror at the man, staying as still as possible behind the vent as it sniffed around. Blood streamed down its face, drenching the little clothes he had on. The billionaire held his breath, hoping beyond hope, that the thing pawing around at the utilities and cleaning supplies wasn't a zombie, the last thing he wanted to deal with was zombies. He couldn't knock them out, was it considered murder if he killed one? He really wasn't sure and didn't want to find out.

“Nick!” A deep voice called from somewhere down the hall and the creature startled, sending an annoyed look towards the voice.

“Seriously, Nick if I have to come over there, I'ma beat your ass.” There was a clicking of a gun.

“Here! Someone!” The man below him called out his voice scratchy and hoarse.

“What was that? Nick. Swear to god.” The voice grumbled. “We need to get out of here. There are some crazies down here man and I mean fucking crazies.” Boots sounded down the hallway and Bruce rearranged his grip on the grate, making his hold as invisible as possible. A taller man wielding a guard's gun, but not the uniform, came into the room. His hair disheveled, bits and pieces shaved off, his face pale, fresh thin scars littered his face, just like the skinnier man prowling the room like a dog. He wore an inmate's uniform, stained with old blood.

“Nick? Jesus. Nick. You,” The man paused in horror taking in his blood covered companion, shock in his eyes.

“That was you? What the fuck man?” The taller male ran a hand through his choppy hair staring at the other in fearful despair, as if he didn't quite know what to do with this situation. The man closed his eyes pointing back down the hallway his mouth having difficulty forming words.

“You. Did that? God what. What did they do to you?” The man named Nick had the decency to look abashed, slumping his blood covered shoulders, he pouted a little. The older man sadly took a step forward placing a hand on the other's head, ruffling choppy hair. The shorter male brightened at the touch grinning up at the other.

“Jared, she said to find him.” Nick stated sniffing around the room again, the taller male's brows creased further at his words.

“Who?”

“The man. He smells good. Like you except, clean.” The elder male glared at him.

“Yeah well sue me. Let's go.”

“But the lady.” The smaller one whined glancing around the room again.

“Fuck her, if I ever see her again I'm putting fifty rounds through her skank ass body. Let's move.” Jared turned around, his grip white on the gun he held. Reluctantly Nick followed, giving the room one last look. Bruce let out a small breath of relief before another screech made its way down the hall, his muscles instantly tensing again.

“God damn it! Nick! Fucking do that again and I'm going to punch you in the face.” There was a small pause, then another screech sounded almost like the feral teen was baiting Jared. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the hall, and the scream was cut off with a strangled noise. Obviously the man kept his promise.

“We good?” The taller male asked his voice sounding gruff. A small whimper answered and the footfalls moved away. Bruce reached a hand up and turned Barbara back on, keeping his hold on the grate in the meantime.

“Barbara?”

“Oh god, Bruce. I was so worried, those screams were... What happened?”

“I don't know but I plan to find out.”

“Vague.”

“Whats going on up top?”

“Nothing really, most of the Max Security psychos are roaming the grounds... Some of the guards are dead.” She added reluctantly and a little quietly. So more then some of the guards were dead.

“And some of the inmates.” She tacked on quietly. So a lot of the inmates.

“Duvall?” Bruce inquired, waiting for any other sound to come down that hallway.

“Holed up in his bullet proof box.”

“Good. You have a schematic for down here?”

“No. I guess we know where all that money went. According to the old building layout that place was just a single hallway, used for mostly storage.”

“Its definitely not just a hallway anymore.”

“Figured. Good news the cops are almost there. The bad news. The door down the hall is open now, meaning anything can get in, but in turn you can get out. Most of the inmates are outside by now or still rocking in their cells. The cameras are still working as well. I can help you escape if you want or you can wait for the cops. I'd prefer you waited for the cops.”

“I'll take my chances.” The Detective muttered his muscles getting tired from holding the grate in place. Barbara let out a frustrated sound.

“Remember Bruce, you're not Batman right now.” She huffed an edge of anger to her tone. Bruce took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

“I know.” He gritted out, yes he didn't have the suit but he still could do things as Bruce Wayne. He wasn't helpless.

“I don't know about your hall, but the last people I saw leave was some guy and something covered in a lot of blood.”

“I saw them too. Let me see if the coast is clear and I'll get back to you.” Bruce let the grate slide quietly to the ground. Maneuvering his way out of the vent, careful not to cut himself again, thank god he was up to date on his shots, he dropped to the floor just as silently as he had gotten in. Bloody footprints now covered the ground, the appliances and cleaning supplies dotted with smudges of blood. Creeping to the door he peered around the edge. A small group of men littered the hallway several doors down. Two had their throats ripped open, while the other three had bullet wounds littering their body that looked like friendly fire. Blood pooled across the floor, slowly creeping its way towards the billionaire. Bruce tore his eyes away from the scene, silently making his way down the hallway, keeping his back to the wall just in case.

“I see you coming up. There shouldn't be anyone in the Joker's room. There are two inmates still in their cells, but they don't seem to be aware of their surroundings. As long as you don't spook them you should be f – Bruce behind you!” Barbara cried out and Bruce twisted around just barely catching the flailing body that launched towards him. He flipped them over onto the floor sparing no time in slamming their head into the cement. Effectively knocking them unconscious. He took a second after to stare down at the mutilated face of a human, its features warped and twisted with scars, sections missing, exposing drying muscles.

“What are they?” Oracle asked quietly over the headset, and Bruce wondered if he would be better off just shutting her off. He should have heard them coming.

“They're people.” He stated turning away from the body, making his way through the rest of the hall.

“What happened to them?”

“I don't know, but we'll find out. Where's the Joker?” Bruce asked moving into the Clown's cell room, the cell empty, the sliding metal door stuck open, looking down the hall he saw all of the cells were the same. There were two guards sprawled out on the floor near him, one's neck was twisted at an odd angle, while the other had bullet wounds, blood splattered the Joker's window.

“He left a few minutes ago, before those two came out. He looked mad.”

“Did he now?” The Detective asked amused, “Did he do this?” He added as an afterthought.

“What do you think? And not that mad, well he always looks 'mad'. Never mind. Just make sure you stay out of his way. I don't care how much it seems he likes you.” Bruce chuckled quietly creeping past the Joker's empty cage.

“He tried to kill me yesterday, I don't think you have to worry about any disillusions on my part.” Bruce informed her, he made his way to the hall lined with open cells, pressing himself against a wall he checked the first cell, the smell was atrocious, piss and body odor easily overpowering his senses.

“I'm not surprised, are you surprised?” The hall beyond didn't have any dead bodies, thankfully. Apparently none of the inmates wanted kill each other in here. It was a pretty long hall though, it was surprising only two inmates remained.

“Not in the slightest.” Bruce replied moving past that cell to the next.

“Good. Now be quiet, you have one inmate on the left, three doors down. One on the right, two doors up from the last. I... I don't have sight on the last one. He was there, but I can't see him anymore, he's in a blind spot. Be careful.” The billionaire nodded silently, easily making it to the first inmate. He could see the man, muttering to himself, staring at the corner of the padded cell, tapping his temple sporadically. His hair mussed and matted, his Arkham uniform stained with sweat. Bruce slipped by easily making his way to the end of the hall, trusting Barbara. He pressed himself against the wall near the cell with the inmate, the man inside paced aggrievedly back and forth, talking to himself.

“We should go, we should go, it's open. We should go. We can't go, where would we go? We could find one, if we go. Pretty, they're pretty, we want one. We want one.” Bruce held back a groan of annoyance, every time he moved the man would turn around. He was about to make a dash for it when Barbara's voice damaged his eardrum.

“Bruce!” Oracle called her voice drowned out by a sudden shriek, turning the Detective barely grabbed the man's clawed hands, angling them away from his eyes, he felt a sharp stinging pain down the side of his face, nails meeting his skin. He fell hard to the ground, right in front of the other inmate's cell.

“Get out!” The inmate from inside the cell yelled, but Bruce couldn't do anything not with the crazy trying to scratch his face off. He felt nails rake down his check again, blood rushing to the wound. These were going to be hard to explain. Getting a knee under the inmate he shoved his weight backwards throwing the man off of him. His ribs took a hard hit knocking the breath out of him, his body slid across the floor, gasping he slammed into the edge of the open door across the hall, the door jamb digging into his other side painfully. His ribs ached where the inmate's foot connected with him.

“I told you to get out!” The man screamed at him, rushing out of the cell, Bruce braced himself for another hit, rolling to his side, ready to catch the man's foot. The hit never came as the frenzied man from before mauled the inmate, taking them both to the ground. The Detective watched in horror as the inmate's eyes were scratched to pieces, blood streaming down his temples, his inhuman screams echoing down the hall. Bruce caught movement in the corner of his eye, the muttering man from down the hall had walked out of his cell, still hitting his head he shuffled forwards slowly gaining momentum, in both his hitting and his walking. The Detective cautiously rolled to his stomach, making sure to move slowly, not catching the mauler's attention. He shuffled backwards, holding in the gasp of pain as he moved his leg, blood already seeping through his bandages. This wound would be a bitch to heal. He got fully to his hands and knees as the shambler broke into a run. Screams still echoing through the hallway, making it impossible for the billionaire to hear anything. Bruce scrambled to his feet awkwardly, his leg giving out half way up and he fell backwards, the muttering man rushing full force into the screeching mass of bloody inmates, toppling over the two he fell to the floor, crushing the billionaire's wounded leg. Grunting in pain, Bruce lifted his free leg slamming one expensive shoe into the inmate's face, once, twice. He could hear Oracle yelling at him, panicked, but couldn't process what she was saying. He kicked him for a third time and the man went limp. The Detective placed his bloodied shoe against the man's slumped shoulders, pushing him off his injured leg. Sliding away from the inmate he looked up, the screaming had stopped. The mauler stood up hovering over the dead body breathing harshly. They stared at each other with a moment of silence and Bruce could finally hear Oracle's words.

“Hide, Bruce! Behind you! Oh god, Bruce! Get out of there! Do something! Get down!”

The billionaire could hear footsteps behind him, a click of metal and Bruce pressed himself back against the ground. Bullets rained over him, shredding through the crazed man hovering near him, blood and flesh flew through the air splattering the walls, floor and ceiling. His body fell in pieces to the floor, blood pooled on the ground near Bruce, his suit and face splattered with blood. There was a click of metal, the gun empty, and the fake playboy wanted to sigh in relief.

“I'm sorry Bruce, I'm so sorry, I didn't see the third one, I had thought and I wasn't watching, God, I'm sorry. I should have been paying attention. This is all my fault.” Bruce really wanted her to stop talking, he needed all of his senses, but he couldn't say anything, couldn't draw attention to himself. There was a clattering of metal against the floor behind him and the new inmate rushed, past him. It was a younger woman, the Arkham uniform hanging off her delicate frame, her hair just as matted and tangled as the rest of them. She stood transfixed over the bodies, staring down at the mass of blood and flesh. She fell to her knees in fascination, placing a shaking palm into the pool of blood, the hall eerily quiet. Only her heavy breathing echoing through the room.

“Bruce are you okay? Please be okay!” Bruce hastily reached up, clicking Oracle's channel off. The woman stiffened her eyes glancing around the hallway, before turning back to the blood. Silence reigned and the woman shuffled back a little, drawing designs on floor where the pooling blood had yet to take. The Detective took a slowly moving backwards, he put some distance between them. Finally he rolled onto his stomach, making his way quietly to his feet. He briefly took in the view before him, guards and inmates were strewn across the floor. Windows were shattered in the guard station, blood dripped down the wall out of one window, blood splattered across the glass.

The guard that had offered to accompany him yesterday lay wide eyed on the ground a few feet from him. Bruce turned away, looking back, making sure the female inmate was still preoccupied in her sick pastime. Clicking Oracle back on he was met with the same mantra or worry. He could really use her sight right now, but he couldn't say anything. Creeping past the edge of the gate, he crouched down, moving slowly into the room, trusting Barbara would say something other then apologies if he actually needed to know something. Sweeping the room for any sign of movement he crept towards the edge of the platform. He hesitated briefly, before dropping down silently to the ground below, disturbed by the artwork drawn in human blood on the walls and beneath his feet. A shuffling movement came from up ahead. Gritting his teeth he made his way out of sight, his leg protesting violently against the movement.

“Oracle, I need you. To be my eyes.” He whispered as quietly as possible, finding his way to some pipes. He waited for any more signs of movement.

“I know, I know. You should be fine I can't see anyone out there, that doesn't mean there isn't anyone, Bruce just hide somewhere and let the police handle it. They're almost there.” She pleaded, and Bruce rolled his eyes.

“No. I need to get back here, I need to help.”

“No you don't! Bruce just stop!”

“Then I'll do it without you.” Bruce growled, placing a hand on his earpiece, he didn't have time for this.

“Bruce don't! You're bleeding everywhere.”

“Barbara. I can do this. I am, Batman.” He whispered quietly glancing around, and the woman sighed, when she remained silent he left the channel open, slowly making his way across the room.

“Fine, but if you die, it's not my fault.” She gritted out.

“Sounds fair.” Bruce muttered, stopping he peered around a corner, meeting eyes with a terrified guard hiding behind some pipes. 'Stay there,' he mouthed, and the guard stared at him like he was crazy when he moved on. The rest of the way was easy sailing and he was almost to the main entrance of Intensive Care when Oracle spoke up. Having avoided all the crazies so far without incident. Barbara had been right, there weren't many left inside.

“There's a group of men heading towards you, they're all armed. They look like guards but, you never know...” Bruce glanced around, dashing into a side office he pressed himself against the wall, voices echoed through the hall. Electricity sparked from a broken monitor, his hand left blood smeared on the metal. Glancing behind him he took in the room, papers strewn across the floor, blood pooled near his shoes. He shuffled away from it looking up.

“He's gotta be here, Jim said he didn't come out, you were watching the entire time right Jim?”

“Yeah mostly. That freak got me in the arm. I'm going to need shots, man.” The voices echoed to him, gruff and vulgar. A guard sat slumped over onto his desk a gun in his hand, a bullet wound to the back of his head. Blood pooled on the table streaming to the floor where it formed a growing puddle.

“Yeah, we can do that after we've got The Joker. If anything comes out of this shit, it'll be his dead body.”

“And we get a bonus! Woot woot.”

“Check all the rooms, wouldn't want that bastard to get away. You know how sneaky he is.” Bruce silently cursed to himself as their footsteps got closer. He slipped farther into the room, rushing forward he grabbed the body, pulling it a little. He got onto his stomach in the pool of blood he reached back up giving the dead man one last tug. The body fell onto him, crushing him against the ground, the philanthropist rearranged the body as much as he could before the footsteps reached the door. Turning his head away from the entrance he slowed his breathing, his cheek smeared with blood. A single pair of boots stalked into the room mere seconds later, shuffling around, checking it out. Blood soaked into his jacket, matting his hair, it was still warm, the copper smell assaulting his senses. Footsteps came closer and the guards body shifted on top of him, something pressed down on the body, pressing Bruce deeper into the blood, crushing his already bruised ribs.

“Poor Derek.” The man muttered, the pressure lifting, and the boots in the hall paused.

“Shit! Not Derek! I used to take his lunches, great stuff. His wife cooks amazing food, wouldn't mind getting a piece of that ass.”

“Hey! Now you can!” Someone answered.

“Yeah guess you're right!” The group laughed, and Bruce's stomach turned, wishing he could pound their faces in. Seconds later the boots exited the room, the groups footsteps echoing down the hall. The sound of electricity was the only sound left after. He felt blood trickling down his neck and knew it wasn't his.

“Okay, you're clear.” Barbara finally stated, “Outsides a mess though, if you stick to the shadows you might make it, but people are all over the place out there. I won't be able to help you much.” He pushed the body off of him, he'd never been covered in so much blood, not someone else's. It took him a second to get his bearings. Get over the feel of it on his skin, in his clothes and hair. How the cool air made it thick and cold. He peeled himself off the ground a Bruce shaped imprint in the blood left behind before he dropped the dead body back to the floor.

“What happened to Dr. Mengele?” Bruce asked darkly, curious if she slipped out before the madness, or during it. This was all her fault, these deaths were on her, and he was going to make sure she saw justice. Making his way stickily back to the hallway, he tried to ignore how drenched and irritating his suit felt.

“She's in the mansion. Barely made it, from what I saw.” Barbara replied, while the new proud owner of Arkham quickly made his way over the bodies lining the last hallway to the exit.

“Good.” The Detective muttered darkly, placing one hand against the door to the outside he let it creak open, just enough for him to fit. He peaked out quickly, when nothing attacked him he slipped out rushing to the closest bushes, ducking behind them before anyone could see him. He surveyed the area, taking in the chaos it really was. It wasn't very far to the front gate, but the grounds were a war zone. Inmates had taken over one of the guard towers, the other still occupied by the guards. Bullets rained across the clearing, embedding in the walls, shooting up the shrubbery. Bodies littered the ground, their blood soaking into the soil, a downed man near him coughed pathetically, blood gurgling out of his mouth, one hand lying uselessly against one of his many wounds. A pack of inmates brawled near the base of the guard tower, while some were simply crouched behind bushes, muttering to themselves. Bullet shells decorated the ground like morbid snow, new ones joining them every few seconds, sprinkling from the guard tower.

“I told you hiding would be better.” Oracle muttered defiantly. Bruce sighed in irritation, charting out a safe path to the exit. If he circled around the left, sticking to the bushes and making his way to the ruins, he should be able to make it without getting shot or mauled.

“Bruce, please, just wait, the police are setting up roadblocks right now. It'll be less than ten minutes for them to get there.” The Detective frowned at that. He couldn't afford to be held up by the police for questioning, Batman had to be here, while Bruce Wayne should not.

“Oracle send the Bat Mobile, I would like to get out of here without talking to the police.”

“You know they'll hunt you down, once they realize you own the place.” Barbara stated dryly while Bruce wiped his blood covered palms on his just as dirty Armani suit pants, his butt being the other thing not covered in blood.

“Delete all of the footage of me. They don't need to know I was here.” Bruce decided taking another look at the chaos around him, again. Whatever was happening with the fist fights, someone had apparently won, because there was a smaller group now huddled behind one of the buildings, taking cover from the guard tower, a few more bodies had joined the already downed ones.

“Your car?” Barbara asked, doubt in her voice.

“Alfred dropped me off. I didn't want a Lamborghini sitting in the parking lot of Arkham.” Oracle huffed in frustration.

“Alright, it's done. Bruce. Please don't do this.”

“Stop trying Barbara.” The Detective gritted out, checking his next cover for any signs of movement.

“Fine.” She answered dryly. Bruce crept out from his coverage when the inmates closest to him had their backs turned, arguing with each other behind the building. He slowly made his way to the left keeping in the shadows. It helped that his undershirt was no longer white, but red wasn't that better of a color. He stopped near the entrance heading towards the penitentiary, surveying his surroundings again. He was just about to dash across the opening when the door opened and a few guards ran in, armed, and started shooting immediately. Culling down the inmates that were hiding behind the building before they could move a muscle. Bruce crouched back down, letting the guards run past him only to be shot down immediately by the inmates in the tower. Bruce closed his eyes, refusing to watch more people die. Taking a second he smeared dirt across any visible white left on him, mostly the back of his collar. The door to the next area closed slowly, just before it shut an inmate dashed out of a bush on the other side the entrance, where he had been planning on hiding, letter opener in hand, the inmate slipped through the door.

Bruce waited a few seconds after the door closed, realizing what a disaster that could have been. If he had been stabbed on top of his already sustained injuries he wouldn't be coming back here tonight. Taking a few more seconds to examine the the chaos he waited for a lull in the raining bullets. When the guards shot at the inmates across the way he dashed across the open space. Falling into the bushes before the inmates could return fire. He wanted to take some time to get the feeling back into his leg, he could feel the blood soaking into his pants, mingling with the guards, but could only feel a deep seeded throb from his injury. He needed to get it taken care of and quickly. He had one last dash to make before he was in the ruins protected by the decrepit walls from stray bullets. He waited for another attack from the guards, before dashing forward, but someone ran out of bullets and the inmates returned fire sooner then they should have. A bullet landed in the ground in front of him, barely missing. He froze for only a second, rushing forward as the bullets started to rain, a sting shot through his arm and his good leg, before he dived into the ruins. He rolled clumsily landing in a heap, bullets chipped away at the building's walls. Stray bullets slipping through the cracks rained brick down upon him, dust falling into his eyes, making him blink rapidly, half blind.

“Bruce are you okay? Bruce!” Oracle shouted over and over again. He covered his eyes with one arm, keeping the debris out of his eyes, ignoring the sting he turned to take in the blood gushing down his other bicep. When there was a lull in bullets, Bruce ripped the jacket open farther revealing a deep gash in his arm. Blood spilled out of it, but there was no bullet, just a deep cut. Turning to his leg he rolled the pant up, blood trickled down his calf, but it was definitely a more shallow wound then his arm.

“I'm fine Barbara, calm down.” He finally stated, deciding to get a move on before they started shooting again, he crouched down moving farther through the ruins, keeping pressure on his arm. He could hear shouting on the other side, the bullets started up again, but they were behind him now, near the guard tower. He could feel exhaustion pull at him, he had lost enough blood that it was finally affecting him. There was a movement behind one of the walls, white flashed, muttering, but it didn't seem like the inmate was moving much. Bruce moved past them, careful not to make any noises, trying to get a glimpse of the hidden inmate all he saw was their back bent over on themselves, blood splatters everywhere. Turning away he made it to the end of the ruins, the gate just a short distance ahead. Trees, bushes and debris littering the way for him. Taking his time he glanced around, trying to catch any other inmates hiding in his path. Deciding he was safe to move farther he rushed out, he made it two steps when noise sounded from behind him. He fell into a crouch behind some discarded junk hidden behind some bushes, twisting around his eyes widened.

“Barbara, I thought you said the Joker had left.”

“I lost track of him, why? Bruce?” Bruce reached his hand up cutting her off. He didn't need the distraction not with the madman's crazed eyes zeroed right on to his injured self.

“Hey there, sweetheart. Aren't you looking great! Red is definitely your color.” The Joker giggled, he was covered in more blood then Bruce was. The Detective glanced behind him, not willing to turn his back to the Clown. He wasn't sure he could make it with his injuries, not right now. Blood dripped off The Joker's hand spattering to the ground and Bruce wondered if not all of that blood belonged to other people, it was strange seeing the male injured by someone other than Batman.

“I was wondering when I would find you.” The madman sung stepping closer to Bruce. The Detective couldn't afford to let him get closer, so he took a chance, dashing to the next covering. His leg faltered and he stumbled rolling into the bushes ungracefully, his hands slapping the ground painfully. Shouting came from behind him, a vicious snarl, and someone was clawing at his legs, ripping him backwards, nails digging into his calf, ripping his shallow bullet graze open farther. Flipping over he immediately kicked the Joker hard in the face. His nose crunched, teeth clattering together, the madman fell off of him. Bruce scrambled to his feet making a mad dash for the exit. Bullets chipped the tree ahead of him and he dropped to the ground instantly to avoid getting shot, wood chips rained down on him.

“Come back here!” The Joker called after him scrambling to his feet as well. He ignored the bullets, barely faltering in his steps when one pierced his shoulder. The madman stumbled to stand over Bruce, blood streaming down his scarred face. The playboy started a slow shuffle backwards, staying as close to the ground as possible, ready to intercept the crazed male if he jumped on him again. The bullets stopped and it seemed the Joker had a different plan, jerking off course he placed blood soaked hands over a large rock, lifting it from the ground with a demented smile, he turned towards Bruce, a feral insane grin bursting at his lips.

“How about! We rearrange that look a little! I think you need a bit more, scars! We can make jackets, sweetheart!” The Joker laughed lifting the rock over his head, Bruce tensed, his muscles ready to roll out of the way the second the man twitched, but he didn't have to. The Joker's head exploded in a shower of blood, brains, and bits of bone, the rock fell with a violent thud, his body jerking with every bullet that riddled it. A gun clicked empty, the body finally falling to the floor in a crumbled heap. Turning his head slowly The Detective stared dumbfounded at a guard. The man was standing bow legged, his eyes wide, a machine gun in his pale white knuckled grip.

“Is he dead?” The man stuttered fearfully letting the gun fall to the ground. The billionaire shook his head, shocked.

“You need to hide. Get out of here.” Bruce insisted scrambling to his feet again, he checked the tower full of inmates, thankful they hadn't noticed them yet.

“Now.” Bruce stated rushing towards the exit, the guard ran after him fearfully.

“Those won't open. Not unless you have a key card we don't have! And any bastard that had one is already gone.”

“I don't need a key.” The detective said, clicking Oracle back on.

“Barbara?”

“Bruce. What the hell happened?”

“I'll explain later I'm at the door,”

“I know, it's open.” Oracle stated, Bruce pulled the handle almost falling at how easily it turned, he pushed it open and they slipped out.

“Barbara watch the door let anyone not an inmate out.”

“Will do Bruce. Now get out of there.”

“Will do, Barbara.” The Detective mocked limping his way out.

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

The batmobile wasn't hard to find, treating his wounds took longer then he wanted, and getting back to the asylum, now raided by GCPD, took forever. All Batman had to do now, with the help of Robin, something he didn't approve of, was clean up any stand offs the police were encountering. They made quick work of those encounters, sticking around afterwards to watch the clean up. Bruce and Tim were standing in the shadows on top of the asylum ruins near the front, watching the police clean up the mess with countless body bags. Robin was leaning against the wall staring down at a pool of blood on the ground. A mess left by the broken, shredded body of the Joker.

“It seems a little. Un-climatic.” Robin whispered in a stunned awe leaning against a crumbling wall, watching the blood slowly soak into the ground.

“It was. If he wanted to die with a bang, he should have just let go in Arkham City.” Batman growled following Tim's gaze.

“Yeah, now that was a shock, you remember when the call came in, that he was alive.” Robin recalled a smirk on his face, meeting Bruce's eyes. Batman chuckled shaking his head in remembered disbelief.

“I carried him. Out of Arkham City. It took me, at least fifteen minutes. He was cold Robin. Disfigured. Dead. The amount of serum he lapped up, it shouldn't have been enough.”

“But it was, that guy, he was insane but, he was a survivor. He took your beatings pretty well.” Robin joked punching the Bat in his bad arm. Bruce hissed gripping his now bandaged wound, leveling the teen with an aggravated look.

“Sorry,” Tim muttered holding up his hands in surrender. They sat in companionable silence for several more minutes, watching more body bags be carried out.

“I'm glad he's gone.” Robin muttered pushing away from the wall, Bruce hummed in agreement, trying to imagine what the world would be like without the madman. Quieter that was for sure, less chaotic, less mysterious, confusing. Suddenly his com turned on, he could hear Barbara breathing on the other side, he frowned. Could hear her almost start talking but, stop herself.

“Oracle?” Batman called and Robin stopped walking towards the edge of the building, turning his attention back to his mentor, who looked tired, scabbing scratches just visible trailing out of his cowl.

“Bruce. I mean, Batman. I, you said you saw The Joker, uh, die?” She asked confusion evident in her voice. Robin clicked on his own line, tapping into theirs.

“Yeah, right in front of me. Don't worry Oracle I'm not going to be losing any sleep over it.”

“I wouldn't doubt that, because... God I can't believe I'm saying this.” She exhaled almost painfully. Bruce stood in silence waiting, almost knowing he didn't want to hear it just as much as she didn't want to say it.

“Come on Babs, stop making us wait.” Robin stated, echoing through the line, impatiently crossing his arms even though the woman couldn't see it.

“He's taken hostages. On the clock tower in the old church.” Silence reigned on both ends after her rushed words.

“I, What? That. Can't be, I saw him die. He was in front of me. His head exploded.” Bruce muttered confused, placing one hand on his ear piece to make sure he was hearing her correctly.

“I saw the body.” Robin confirmed with equal confusion.

“Yeah well, Vicki has it all over the news right now, Batman, it's him. I can see him, it's him.”

“How is that possible?”

“I don't know but you should get over there. He has them dangling from the sides. I don't think he'll wait much longer.” She informed him and Bruce was afraid to ask.

“What is he waiting for?” There was another pause, the silence hanging over the line, like she was surprised he had to ask.

“You.”

“Of course.” It took several seconds for Bruce to process this, it wasn't possible. Clayface must be back. There was no possible way the Joker was still alive. He had just seen his face splattered over the ground. It wasn't possible, it just wasn't. Was it? Something was happening here and he didn't have all the information. For now. But he would get to the bottom of this, right now he had a Clown to stop.

“Want me to come? You're not really, at the top of your game.” Robin muttered grabbing the older male's forearm before he could take off.

“No. I want you here. I don't want you anywhere near The Joker. He's a loose cannon. I won't risk it.” Batman leveled his partner with a piercing look, daring him to fight it.

“And you think I'd risk you?” Tim asked incredulously, his grip tightening on his mentors arm, irritated at the man's constant stubbornness. Bruce's face softened under his cowl, he turned towards the teen, the kid always knew what to say. Placing both hands on the boy's shoulders he squeezed reassuringly, meeting nothing but rigid muscle and an irritated glare.

“I know. This isn't fair, and it's risky, but he won't kill me Robin.” His grip tightened.

“He will kill you. You made a promise.” The teen broke eye contact at those words, looking back up pain evident in his blue orbs, they stared at each other unblinking. Bruce's jaw tight, Tim's stature rigid, both unwilling to back down. Finally Robin sighed letting his head fall forward in defeat.

“Fine. It's stupid, but you're right. He won't kill you, and, he would kill me. Your lucky I made that promise.” Tim glared up at him, and Batman smirked back, ruffling the kid's hair.

“It's why I asked for it.” Robin shook his head, his lips parting to release a frustrated gust of air, slipping out of the man's palm.

“Look if things go south. Promise me. No.” He growled in agitation grabbing the man's arm tightly, “Promise. Me.” Tim stated more forcefully, when Bruce didn't seem to be taking him seriously. “You will call me in. Promise.” Batman gritted his teeth, his jaw line stiffening.

“I promise.” He gritted out, not meeting the teen's eyes.

“Good. You better get going, wouldn't want any more bodies under your belt tonight.” Robin joked, Batman leveled him with a disgruntled glare.

“This wasn't my fault.” He growled looking back at the carnage over the grounds, Tim laughed awkwardly, he had meant it as a joke, but his anger got the better of him.

“I didn't mean it like, you're right, it's not. It's that doctor's fault. Speaking of, I'm going to search for anything I can find on her.” Robin agreed, willing to spend hours tracking down everything on the woman to fix his momentary lack of control.

“Sounds good.” Bruce said his heart feeling heavy all the same.

“Don't keep me in the dark on this one.” Robin added staring Batman down. Bruce brushed the gaze off, jumping off the crumbling building, making a beeline for the Batmobile parked outside the gate. A com opened up just as Bruce touched down on the blood soaked ground, near the door out.

“I mean it, don't leave me in the dark.” The teen's voice came over his earpiece.

“Fine, Robin. Don't you have a doctor to track down?”

“You're impossible.”

“Runs in the family.” Bruce countered, Robin laughed joyously loving when they were group together as a unit, reminded that despite being an orphan he still did have a family.

“Yes it does.” The teen chuckled, cutting the line. Batman let a smile mold his angular lips, slipping out the door.

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

Batman swallowed hard, crouched on a grungy rooftop, gritting his teeth. Barbara hadn't been lying. It was the Joker. It looked like the Joker. Catcalled like the Joker. The madman stood on top of the tower, the giant bell resting above him, his voice echoing irritatingly through it. The Clown had a megaphone, cackling away as he toed the ropes holding his latest victims from falling to their deaths, watching them scream, swinging dangerously against the side of the building. Taking a deep breath, The Bat opened a com-link to Robin, he could actually use his help, but only if he would stay away from the Joker. A helicopter hovered in the air a good distance away from the tower, at least Vicki had learned her lesson in Arkham City.

“Robin.”

“Holy shit, are you actually calling me? Are you okay? I'm on my way.” He answered over the link, Batman could hear him running across buildings, wind rushing through the microphone.

“I'm fine, I need you to rescue the civilians while I keep The Joker occupied. There's no way I can save them and keep him from noticing. I could take him down, maybe before he cut any ropes, but I don't want to risk it.”

“I'm almost there.”

“How close were you?” The Detective narrowed his eyes as the com went dead.

“Hey.” Robin's voice called from behind him and Batman rolled his eyes.

“Of course.” Bruce muttered, Tim had the decency to smile sheepishly at him when he gazed over his shoulder. Turning back around Batman surveyed the situation again.

“Here's the plan,” He started as Robin took his place beside him, crouching down and taking in the situation as well. “I'm going to go in there, play the Clown's sick game. While you silently bring down the civis.”

“Gotcha.” Robin stated ready to push off, and get started.

“Robin.” Batman grabbed his shoulder stopping him, the teen looked at him their eyes once more.

“You can't let him know you're there. The second he realizes he's losing leverage – .” The teen ripped out of his grip.

“I can do this.” Robin insisted leveling Batman with a hurt indignant expression.

“I know you can. It's why I called you, but if anything happens, anything, if he sees you, get out.” Bruce stated with finality, turning his sights back to the tower, he pushed off, easily gliding his way silently into the building. The walls were chipping apart, just as decrepit as most of the lower class areas. The clock high above them, its gears and levers no longer turning, frozen in time until someone decided to care. The bell, situated in the center, hovered like a giant, it's rusted brass reflecting blurred images, a dash of black, a smudge of purple. The Clown froze on the other side of the open space, pillars and archways the only thing lining the open platform, his back to The Bat, as if he could simply feel his mere presence. The madman did a tiny dance, his joy so vast not a sound escaped his throat, spinning around slowly he threw his arms open in greeting, his mouth moving wordlessly a few times.

“Bats! Baby! You have no idea! How much I've miiiii-ssed you!” The Joker squealed excitedly, his hands coming up to frame his crimson smeared lips in joy.

“Look at you! I mean really, Look. At. You. Sweetheart! I'm so glad you could make it!” He laughed happily

“Oh, I'm sure they're ecstatic to see you as well.” The madman stage whispered pointing down to his hostages with a giggle. Batman took a few steps to the side, the Joker mirrored him, starting up their little dance.

“I thought you died.” The Bat stated as they paced around the building, a gentle wind blowing through, the bell above them not even paying it any attention, his cape however rustled in the breeze, the Joker's hair swayed, their eyes locked on each other.

“Oh trust me, babe, I thought I was dead too! But, Batsy! I couldn't leave you! Not all to your lonesome, grim self.” The Joker smirked, Bruce narrowed his eyes, something wasn't quite... falling into place, never mind that, he had to keep the Clown distracted.

“I saw your head explode.” Batman grunted, maybe he could get something out of him, stopping their little spin around the room, his boots scuffing the ground. The Joker licked his lips frowning, he click his tongue once raising an eyebrow in wonder.

“Now, that. That! Must have been fun! Whatever you were on sweetheart you should let me try it! I bet we'd have a blast together! The you and I.” He chuckled rolling onto the heels of his feet, his gloved hand gesturing between them. Pursing his lips he gave The Bat a once over. Taking in his firm muscles and rigid plains. His angular jaw line, and sharp lips, the small scratches gracing his lower cheeks. Bruce took the small pause to take in the man's disheveled suit, obnoxious pattern shirt, purple gloves, pressed pants. His scared lips, white teeth, green hair falling playfully into his even more vivid green eyes. Eyes that refused to leave him, full of a glazed madness.

“Really though, sweetheart, that must have been some dream you had, nightmare really. I mean. Me! Dead? As if. We've had that scare before, now, haven't we?” The Joker asked with a smile, eyeing Batman for a reaction, a sneer pulled at his lips when the vigilante didn't answer.

“Scarecrow got your tongue?” The clown questioned tilting his head with smirk, Bruce gritted his teeth, he didn't feel like playing games tonight, his leg was killing him, his arm throbbed painfully. He could feel exhaustion pulling at him, but this was nothing compared to the night in Arkham City, then again he didn't have two full fledged bullet wounds that night. He may have been dying but he'd take dizzy spells over this sharp pain any day. No, he took that back. Dizzy spells were more dangerous.

“What do you want Joker?” Batman growled irritated, his eyes narrowing onto the Clown, flexing his gloved hands, his cape swaying more as the wind picked up. The Prince of Anarchy took a step back like the vigilante had been slapped. His hand to his chest dramatically.

“Want?!” The Joker asked incredulously, fixing with a wide eyed stare, frowning he leaned forward tilting his head down.

“What have I always wanted, Batsy?” He asked in a whisper.

“I don't know.” The caped crusader stated, he wanted to cross his arms, but didn't want to risk inhibiting his movement, so he settled for flexing his gloved hands.

“Oh don't be like that! You. Know. You know! You, will always! Know. It's there hiding, but you know.” The Joker ranted cryptically and all Batman wanted to do was smash his face in.

“Come on guess, Sweetheart! Just take a guess. Oh!” The Clown jumped in his spot, suddenly terribly excited, he snapped his gloved fingers a few times, like he was thinking of something.

“We'll make it game out of it! Shall we?! For every time you get it wrong. We'll drop one of these beautiful people to their deaths!” The Joker cackled kicking one of the ropes merrily, a grin plastered on his face. Then he froze, his smile falling off his lips, cocking his head to the side, he hooked his foot around the rope, moving it violently so it swayed a little against the edge of the building. Then he listened, Batman held his breath. Robin wasn't done yet. The Joker kicked it again and a scream sounded, after a long second. The madman, looked a little skeptical but turned back to him with a sheepish grin.

“The help these days am I right? So let's play sweetheart! Guess number one!” He giggled throwing one gloved finger up in delight.

“I'm not playing your games.” Batman growled taking a step to the side, starting up their dance again.

“Well that's no fun Bats. Let's give you a little incentive shall we?” The Joker growled back, crouching down near one of the ropes, a pocket knife flashing in the moonlight.

“Joker don't.” The Detective shouted holding out a gloved hand, taking a step towards him, and the madman leisurely turned to him, knife held taut against the rope, waiting for the man to make any sudden movements.

“Guess one, Bats.” The Joker smiled sadistically at him. Bruce took a deep breath, trying to think of the answer the madman was looking for.

“Let's make it a count down?” The Prince of Anarchy suggested, just as the vigilante's communications came to life.

“Ten.”

“Hey.” Robin's voice came over the line, “It's done. Have fun in there, he's got nothing.”

“Nine.” Batman let out a breath of relief, he leveled the Joker with a smirk, who in turned narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Eight.”

“Thanks.” The Detective muttered back to his partner and the Clown cocked his head to the side, the smile falling from his painted lips.

“Seven?” The Clown said almost as if he wasn't too sure about this idea any more.

“Alright Joker. I'll play your game.” Bruce gave in, trying to keep the satisfied smirk off his face. The Joker stood back up, watching Batman suspiciously. The Detective took a few steps towards the ledge to his left, almost like he was going to start up pacing, before turning back to the Clown with a scowl.

“I'm here. For your own sick perverse idea of fun.” Batman growled at the madman, who smirked back at him. The madman made a disappointed sound in the back of his throat, taking a deep breath through his nose.

“Not quite.” The Joker gushed, quickly crouching he sliced through a rope, his muscles tense ready to dash away from the angry Bat... but nothing happened. Batman didn't jump at him furious, didn't try to save his victims from falling, screaming to their death. Screaming. The realization dawned on the Clown's face, and he rushed to the edge, crouching down he peered over, gaping down at the empty ropes hanging harmlessly over the sides. It was Batman's turn to chuckle darkly, it was about time he got his own laugh on the Joker. He paced to the right, taking his time on walking across the area.

“What's wrong Joker? Not the help you wanted?” The Detective mocked and The Clown turned towards him from his crouched position with an angry scowl, his fingers clawing at the ground. Bruce stopped on the other side of the open space, watching the Joker's feral eyes trail after him. Batman crossed his arms, muscles sliding under black Kevlar, pushing at the fabric as his muscles bunched. He leaned against a pillar casually, not turning his back to the man, his cape flapping a little less gently now that he was closer to the edge.

“So tell me, Joker. What is it that you want?” Batman asked deeply, starring the Joker straight in the eye, the eyes that met his with an unfamiliar madness. Bruce's eyes narrowed on The Clown, who opened his mouth to reply through gritted teeth, his purple gloved hands clenched, a few strands of hair falling into his face, sticking to his paint.

“You Bats.” A familiar voice whispered darkly from behind him, panic thrilled through Bruce's body at the sound, tingling down his spine. The Joker in front of him snapped his mouth shut his eyes narrowing. Slowly turning his head, Batman looked behind him, a breath of disbelief leaving his lips. It was impossible, he blinked slowly, hopefully, but the sight didn't change. Another Joker stood behind him, absent of make-up, an Arkham uniform torn and shredded, he still had pieces of a straitjacket still hugging parts of his lithe frame. Batman pushed away from the pillar, taking a few level steps over, putting the open archway to his back, keeping his escape options open. Turning his head one way he saw the first Joker still crouched down near the ropes, still dressed in his signature outfit, face still painted with the disgusting oil based colors. Turning to the opposite side the second, messy, blood stained Joker still stood, the hatch to the lower levels open behind him. There were two of them. How was that possible? Clayface again? Would the man even consider playing the same ploy twice? Why show it if he had?

“What is this?” He hissed out trying to keep both of them in his sight, but having a hard time considering they were on opposite sides of the tower. He could handle one madman, but two? At the same time? The Joker usually put up a better fight than ninety percent of the criminals he brought down, two of them while he was injured? This definitely wasn't his night.

“Now that! Is a great question, Bats Baby.” The second Joker broke the silence, his voice getting breathy as he spoke Batman's pet name, like he had missed the way it felt on his lips. The madman tilted his with a smirking smile, his eyes never leaving the other Clown, he took a few steps towards the left side of the clock tower, putting some distance between himself and the vigilante.

“Let's ask, uh, well. I guess me, right?!” The Arkham Joker laughed darkly, leveling his piercing eyes on the dolled up Joker across the room. The first Joker stood up from his crouched position fixing the second one with a look of disappointed confusion, they looked each other over, taking themselves in. The first Clown's painted lips curled in disgust, while the second one simply raised an eyebrow in amusement. There was another half minute of silence, before the second madman spoke up again, one hand absently moving up to delicately press against his chest.

“So come on you handsome beast! What are! You doing here? You're cramping my style, love!” The blood covered Joker trailed off in a growl, one hand thrown out exaggeratedly, his arm littered with scrapes and bruises, blood spattered and saturated, what was left of his clothing. The suited up Clown raised both of his eyebrows, watching the new comer like he was a bad actor pretending to be on his level. A slightly amused chuckled left the painted lips, and the first Clown tilted his head with an incredulous noise through his teeth, he turned his attention towards Batman.

“So what is this, sweetheart? Some kind of joke? I have to admit your sense of humor is...” The first madman lifted his gloved hand in the air, looking down at the ground, like he was trying to grasp the words he was looking for, then he gave up with a haughty smirk and a shrug of his shoulders.

“But! You!” The man continued, turning back, leveling the other Prince of Crime with a purple gloved finger.

“You could use some work. You're, uh, missing a little something, there, and here, and well, everywhere sweetheart.” The dressed up Joker giggled pointing to his painted face first, then at his attire in a grand gesture. The newly arrived Joker cried out in exasperation, throwing his head back with a growl of annoyance, as the first one started talking again.

“Can't believe you left the house dressed like that! Where is your pride, sweetheart?!” The first clown cried exasperated, while the second tilted his head back forward, leveling his dressed up half with a disgusted glare, his scared lips sneering. Then he turned his attention to the ground, shaking his head a little.

“Sweet. Heart.” The blood stained man whispered quietly, his eyes on the floor, Bruce barely picking it up his breathy words.

“Sweetheart.” He said again this time louder letting the clown across the room hear him, snapping his gaze back to the first Joker, leveling him with a piercing look.

“Sweetheart. Sweetheart! Sweeeeetheart!” He said matching the same exasperation the other clown had shown moments before, gesturing towards the other with a blood soaked hand. His hand clenched in a fist snapping back to his side, his other hand still holding his chest.

“Good lord! You sound! Like a broken record.” He growled sneering, showing yellowed teeth.

“Are you. Hearing! This guy, firecracker?” The blood soaked Joker asked licking his lips, fixing Batman with half lidded eyes and one raised eyebrow. Bruce met his eyes, finding the insane intelligence he was used to seeing. The piercing gaze that found your soul, rather than your thoughts.

“Talk about a loonie! Coo-coo.” The makeup-less madman twirled his finger over around his temple, catching some of his blood stained green hair in the process, and Bruce got it. The world's greatest detective and he didn't notice it before, couldn't see it, hear it. Turning his attention to the first Joker, he stared, trying to work it out, how it was possible, how he could look so...

“Who are you?” He grunted leveling the dressed up Joker with an accusing stare, the man simply looked taken aback, actually taking one step backwards, one purple gloved hand gripping at his heart as if he was wounded by the Bat's words.

“And we have a winner!” The bloodied Joker shouted, smirking in pride.

“Uh, Excuse me?!” The madman growled stepping back forward again, meeting the vigilante's gaze with his own heated stare.

“I'm pretty sure. I'm me! But if he's me, and, uh, we're us. Then who are you, sweetheart?!” The dressed up male cackled, gesturing towards Batman and the other Joker didn't look impressed, a sneer running across his blood stained face.

“That wasn't an answer.”

“It just wasn't the one you wanted.” The painted Clown replied. The Arkham Joker growled deeply leveling his other self with a disgustedly annoyed sneer.

“I think I've had enough of this.” The blood soaked Joker hissed, his breath hitching, Bruce's eyes widened and he lunged forward, but not fast enough to stop him. The shot went off, the bullet landing straight between the first Joker's dolled up eyes. The body crumpled backwards hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Batman grabbed The Joker's wrist twisting it violently, his grip slipping only slightly on the blood covered skin. The Clown hissed in pain, dropping the gun into the vigilante's outstretched hand. Batman instantly slid out the bullet cartilage, kicking it violently. It slid noisily over the cement ground, falling over the edge, clattering against the ornate structure. Taking apart few more pieces, he tossed the remainder of the gun away from them, the pieces echoing weakly across the ground. The bell above them still sung from the blast of the shot, ringing loudly.

“Why did you do that?” He growled loudly in anger over the ring, grabbing the man by the tattered shirt, he hauled him off the floor, as far as his arm could lift him. The Joker dangled lightly in his grip, a dark chuckle vibrating through his chest and throat. One pale hand gripped weakly at his own black gloved one.

“Whoa whoa whoa! Sweeeeeetheart.” He mocked with a giggle, before taking in a sudden breath cutting it off.

“I think you need to calm down.” The madman stated, the smile never leaving his face.

“He could have told us what was going on. Unless you know?” The vigilante accused him pulling the madman in closer. The Joker visibly shivered in his hand, licking his chapped lips with a breathy laugh. This close up Bruce could see all of the Joker's imperfections, the dark circles under his eyes.

“I love. When you talk like that.” The Clown moaned his other hand making itself at home on Batman's Kevlar covered chest, it slipped a little blood smearing over the bat symbol.

“What is going on?!” The Dark Knight thundered, shaking the Joker like a ragged doll, who simply giggled and gasped in his grip, his hands tightening against the vigilante.

“I. Don't. Know.” The madman gritted out his head flopping back and forth violently, Batman stopped letting the smaller male smile lazily at him. He could smell the blood covering the Clown, his rancid breath and unwashed body odor, could see the oil and sweat on the man's face. To be honest he smelled sick, his skin shallow, paler than usual.

“But knowing you, we sure as hell will find out! Right?!” The man laughed, breaking off he took a deep slow rattling breath, hissing in pain, he shifted in the vigilante's grasp letting his hand fall to his side in annoyance, leaving him to simply dangle in his grip, the hand on his chest still remained however. The touch soft enough that Bruce barely noticed it.

“Hey hey, Why don't we play a little less violently tonight? 'Ey Bats?” The hand on his chest moved onto his index and middle finger, walking up the man's chest and over his collar bone.

“I mean, Batsy, babe, you know I love our little rough get-togethers, but we both look like, uh, shit.” The man tapped him on the cowl covered nose.

“Tonight.” The Joker suggested quietly, his breathing labored. Batman growled, still tossing him to the ground none too gently, the clown landed in a heap, a gasp of pain forcefully leaving his lungs. He groaned in pain slowly letting his body flop fully onto the ground. Turning his head to watch the well toned man stalk over to the dead body, apparently not at all worried about the still breathing Clown sprawled out on the floor. The dead madman lay on the ground near the edge of the building, blood pooling beneath his head, matting the green hair. The blood oozed down the edge of the building, his eyes frozen wide in shock, already glazing over, blood trailed down his painted features. The Bat knelt down, inspecting the dead madman's face. His scarred cheeks, teeth, his gloves coming away smeared with lipstick, taking in his open eyes, examining the shade of green. He wasn't sure... turning back to the other one, who grinned at him from his downed position. He noticed that their eyes were different shades of green. The living one's eyes more vibrant, deadly.

“That. Is not me Tiger.” The Joker mumbled tiredly, apparently this night had been just as harrowing on him as it had been on Bruce, if the Clown wasn't already on him again.

“I know.” Batman muttered back tearing his eyes from the other male.

“Ooooh? Do you now? Because a few minutes ago, you were taunting him like you had some kind of connection.” The madman growled, jealousy coloring his tone.

“I thought he was you.” The Bat said off handedly, lost in his speculations on how or what this dead man was, or had been. The Joker grinned genuinely, letting out the most normal flattered laugh Bruce had ever heard from the Clown. He immediately snapped his attention to the smaller male watching the madman close his eyes with a satisfied smile, lacking the normal cruel edge that accompanied it.

“I love your justification.” The Joker admitted with a smirked, chuckling darkly when the vigilante realized what he had said. The Bat stood up abruptly, suddenly realizing just how close the pooling blood had gotten to his suit. He didn't need anymore blood near him tonight. There was a shuffling and Batman looked up watching the Joker painfully pull himself into a sitting position. He really was beat up, Bruce could see fresh blood trailing slowly down his arm. The Clown cracked his neck looking just as tired and the Detective felt.

“It can't be me though, look.” The Prince of Anarchy said holding up a hand.

“Twenty newborns says he's missing that love mark you gave me the first time we met. Or the one that night at the bank? You remember Arkham?” The madman pulled down his shirt a little showing off a long white scar across his collarbone. Even his neck was smeared with blood and dirt, his adam's apple bobbed under pale skin. How would the Joker know that? That they wouldn't have the same scars. Bruce pulled the dead man's shirt open revealing a pale unblemished collar bone, his eyes snapped back to the living one.

“You know something. Don't you?” Batman narrowed his eyes on man, standing up, watching him for even the slightest tale. The Clown raised his hands up in surrender, a smirk on his face.

“I don't kn – .” The vigilante stalked towards him menacingly and the Joker cut off eyes widening, he raised his hands higher, leaning back a little.

“Alright alright! I love how pushy you are.” He purred, smiling up at Batman, a knowing look on his face. He reached a hand out towards the vigilante, who looked at it with disdain.

“Come on. Help a poor crazy out!” The Joker laughed giving his hand a little shake in the air for emphasis. The Bat scowled down at it, crossing his arms defiantly.

“Talk.” The Dark Knight growled glaring down at the pouting Clown, who sighed letting his hand fall back to his chest, he licked his lips, meeting the vigilante's blue eyes in resignation.

“Whispers.” The Joker coughed sifting his seated position.

“In the Asylum. Someone has the hots for me and you. I don't blame them really. But, now Bruce Wayne. The man sure made a mess of their plans.” The Joker muttered amused, and Batman's heart sank. Every time he heard his own name, a chill of worry ran through him, it was easily ten times worse when the Joker said it. The Joker's eyes widened suddenly, easily picking up on Batman's hidden emotions.

“Oh! But don't worry Shnookums, I only have eyes for you.” The Joker assured him, finally attempting to get up from his seated position. Batman made no move to stop him, or help him, watching how stiffly the usually graceful male moved. When the madman simply brushed off his wrecked clothing, instead of continuing, the Bat stepped forward gripping the man's hair in his gloved hand, easily a head taller than the other male. The Joker hissed, which turned into a moan. Bruce wanted to let go at the noise, but held fast refusing to back down as Batman. The Clown's hands found their way to his chest curling as much as they could into the Kevlar material, licking his lips.

“And?” The vigilante demanded yanking the man's head back, revealing a long expanse of dirty blood covered skin, the man's adam's apple bobbed again as he swallowed, smiling lechery up at the Bat.

“What? There isn't much to say! I wasn't in there long.” His hands slipped slowly, unnoticeably up the Dark Knight's chest.

“I kept hearing whispers of my demise. Nothing new really, but this time, there was a reward. For my head and for yours. Mine?! I could let slid. People love to kill me! You though. No one touches my Bats!”

“Your sick.” Batman scowled pushing the madman away from him, but it didn't work, pale hands suddenly locked around the back of his neck pulling him forward with a hidden strength the skinny male shouldn't possess. The Joker let out a little high pitched giggle, pulling the vigilante in closer. They're eyes only inches apart from each other.

“See. That's what you keep saying.” The Clown whispered locking their eyes, the Detective moved his grip to the other male's hands, and the madman's hold tightened desperately, pain shooting through Bruce's already sore muscles as his nails dug in.

“When! Will you realize you're just as sick?!” The Joker cried out in frustration, holding the Bat there as long as he could. Batman tore at his hands, peeling them off of his second skin. Nails dug into the fabric, but didn't do any damage to him. The man let out a frustrated sigh, his shoulders visibly sagging.

“Forget it.” The male sneered ripping his hands out of Batman's gloved ones.

“I'm tired of this night. Look B-man. All I know is that this isn't – .” Static came over his head set and Batman held up a hand cutting the Joker off, he obviously wasn't going to tell him much.

“Hold on. Oracle?”

“Hey, um, your not going to believe this.” Bruce looked back at the Joker who was sitting there quietly beside him and resisted the urge to snort.

“Try me.” He grunted staring at the dead body of the Joker look alike, blood eerily glistening in the moonlight.

“The Joker is breaking into a bank.”

“They're not real.”

“What? How do you know?”

“I don't think they're really him, I have the original with me right now.” The Joker perked up at that pointing to himself and nodding, like he was finally getting the credit he deserved. Slicking his hair back he blew a kiss to Batman, who scowled in return.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He replied dryly.

“This one is asking for you too.” She stated. Bruce sighed in irritation, his leg was throbbing, his muscles tired, his mind tired, he needed to replenish his blood. He needed to sleep, hell he had needed sleep since finding out he had to even touch that Christmas Bash, let alone plan it.

“Alright, I'll be there.” He finally grumbled looking back over at the original Clown, who's eyes were closed in exhaustion, now that he thought Batman wasn't looking. Those green eyes immediately snapped open and sharpened once he realized he was being watched.

“Just give me a few minutes.” Bruce added reluctantly, eyeing the Joker wearily, he couldn't just hand him over to the police. They'd lose him in mere hours, the body count would be on his shoulders. Arkham was still a wreck, it would be the same situation if he placed him back there. Sure he could put him back in his cell, but there were still inmates and workers looking to kill him, simply for the reward. The Joker wouldn't be safe there, well if anything he'd get out again simply because they thought they could take him in his cell.

“Bruce, you don't have a few minutes, he has hostages.” Batman sighed turning his attention away from the Joker, of course there were.

“I'm on my way.” The vigilante finally stated sizing up the madman in front of him. The man raised an eyebrow, licked his lips and started walking towards the exit leisurely. Bruce hung up the line and swiftly closed the distance between them. He didn't have anything on him, but the Batmobile did, all he had to do was get the madman down there. He didn't feel like wrestling with him. There was one way the Joker wouldn't complain, well, couldn't complain. Batman broke out into a full fledged run, charging towards the madman. Startled the Clown turned towards the vigilante, barely catching sight of his determined face rushing towards him. He gasped as the Bat slammed into him, barely having time to realize what was happening, going to happen, before his stomach fell out of his insides, the ground below them disappearing. Batman grabbed the madman around the waist, yanking him off his feet, pulling him in close.

“Hold on tight. Don't block my back.” Batman yelled and the Joker listened not even a second later, knowing when the vigilante told you to do something he meant it. The Dark Knight continued his sprint to the edge of the building, pushing off of the floor before it fell away. It took the Joker a second to realize they were no longer on the tower. His hands firmly twisted into the back of the Kevlar suit, his arms around the Bat's neck tightly, his legs squeezing his favorite hero's hips in fear, their bodies flush, his face pressed into the nook of the man's neck. One second, that felt like ten, of free fall later and a black cape flared out behind them. The only sound the Joker could hear over the rushing wind in his ears. Batman glided over the pathetic looking police barricades below, they were losing altitude a lot faster then he was used to forcing him to land hard against a roof a few blocks away. Luckily the Batmobile was in the alleyway on the other side. He landed on his hands and knees, unable to hold back the grunt of pain as his bullet wounded leg took most of the force.

“Don't ever – .” The Joker started, loosening his grip on the vigilante who placed his hand firmly on the male's back, his knuckled scraping the roof beneath them, easily feeling the man's spine beneath his tattered clothing.

“We're not done yet.” He grunted out standing up, ignoring the sting in his thigh. The madman's grip tightened again, clinging to the Bat desperately.

“What?!” The Joker cried in confusion his grip tightening farther, almost painfully. Batman stood up with a grunt, walked swiftly towards the other side of the building his arm around the Clown's back, making sure he stayed put. The Joker would be enjoying this if he hadn't of just taken an impromptu dive off the side of a building that was in no way his own idea. At all. Police sirens could be heard just a few blocks away, coming closer. Apparently someone saw them leave, a helicopter could be heard in the distance. The vigilante picked up his pace, running to the other side of the grungy rooftop. He jumped off again releasing his hold on the madman to maneuver his cape. The Joker held on for dear life as they glided the last few stories to the ground, coming to a graceful landing right next to the Batmobile. The Joker instantly released his hold on the Dark Knight, stumbling a few steps backwards.

“How about! You WARN a man before doing that? Huh? I could have died!” The Prince of Crime shouted dramatically, looking shaken for the first time ever. The Joker took a second to catch his baring, one hand on the sleek black surface of his car, but Batman wasn't going to have any of that. He stalked forward grabbing the Clown by his tattered shirt. He shoved him up against the car, pressing a button he opened one of the compartments. He wasn't giving the madman time to plan his escape. The Joker choked, clawing at the gloved grip cutting off some of his air.

“Whoa! Casa-nova! How about a drink first?!” The madman aimed a well placed kick at Batman's already injured ribs, the vigilante faltering for a second in his search. Pulling the Clown back he slammed him hard into the metal, the man's head cracking against the vehicle.

“Oh.” The Joker groaned his head lolling forward, a sheepish grin lighting his face. Bruce finally found what he was looking for closing the compartment. He giggled letting his head fall back against the Batmobile again.

“Bats, bats, everywhere, oh how we wish he would share.” The madman sang trailing off into quiet giggles, while Batman stepped back, taking one of the smaller male's arms he slapped a cuff onto him. Then onto his own wrist, tugging the Joker away from the car. The madman stumbled forward, his eyes out of focus and for a second Bruce worried he had given the man a serious concussion. He would have to watch him, of course he was going to be watching him, but that wasn't the point.

“What?” The Joker asked confused holding up his metal enclosed wrist to inspect them.

“What is this? You can't be serious! This wasn't how it was supposed to work, besides you know these won't hold me.” The madman trailed off with a tired growl.

“I know, but I will. Which is why I'm on the other side of them.” Batman replied tugging the pale wrist back down.

“Hold me please! Keep me locked up? Good luck buddy. You're gonna need it.” The Joker smirked his eyes tired. He leaned back against the car resting his head where it had slammed mere seconds ago.

“So what's the plan, bundle of fun? Are we gonna go take down the big bad Clown?” The Prince of Anarchy asked cocking his head to the side with a grin.

“Yes. We are.” The vigilante replied popping the hood of the Batmobile, watching the Joker almost fall backwards into the cockpit as it opened.

“Again. Warn a man.” The Clown growled displeased, righting himself, one hand holding his wounded chest.

“I'll let you know when I find one. Now get in.” Batman countered gesturing to the cockpit with a small tilt of his head.

“Ouch. Baby that hurt. Have I been a naughty boy? You wanna punish me now?” The Joker asked sliding closer to the black clad man instead, his free hand running up the solid chest sensually. The Detective snatched that hand away from him, holding it in his gloved grip he leveled the Clown with a dark glare.

“Get in.” He demanded with a forceful quiet that the madman just loved to hear. The Joker chuckled amusedly, tingles running through his body at the tone the Bat took.

“Oh, how I've missed you.” He exhaled leaning forward, rolling onto the balls of his feet for added height, he pressed his lips against the thin irritated ones. Batman refused to step back, but couldn't release the man's wrist fast enough to stop him. Warm lips met his for a brief moment, the Joker mesmerizing ever sensation, texture and plain, before the Bat pushed him harshly away. The Clown fall back into the side of the Batmobile, barely catching himself. Batman gave him another hard shove, watching him trip over the side falling into the cockpit painfully, his arm wrenching awkwardly when Bruce barely gave him any leeway. The Bat wiped at his lips with the back of his suit, taking the last step forward to lean menacingly over the side of the car, glaring down in disgusted at the Clown.

“Don't. Ever. Do that again.” Batman growled and the Joker laughed dryly.

“Why? Because you liked it?” The madman giggled, abruptly yanking hard on their chained wrists pulling the caped crusader farther into the car. The vigilante's gloved hand slammed against the side, keeping himself from falling in, maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. The sirens from earlier were closer, they were obviously searching the streets for them.

“No. Because I'll beat you and leave you in an alleyway.” Batman grunted yanking back on the chain, pulling the Joker back into a sitting position harshly, the man hissing in pain as his chest was jostled.

“Well that's nothing new.” The smaller male shot back pulling back on the cuffs, Bruce expected it this time, his hand barely moving.

“Move. Over.” The vigilante growled out, the sirens getting closer. The Joker leaned forward with a twisted smile.

“Make me.” The Clown challenged quietly, Batman scowled not even taking time to think about how to do that, he socked the man hard in his smug little face, watching him fall sideways against the dashboard. Bruce climbed into the cockpit, grabbing him by the bony shoulders he twisted him around, shoving his feet to the floor boards. He was in the driver's seat, the Joker squished up against the side door before the man had stopped seeing stars. It was only after the caped crusader pressed the button for the roof to close that he remembered he was supposed to be worried about the Joker having a concussion. One look at the man beside him, pale hand holding his jaw, his entire body covered in blood, most of it more then likely not even his own. Hair windswept, plastered to his sweaty dirt covered forehead. The Joker chuckled working his jaw open and closed a few times, before turning his attention to the man beside him.

“Well. That's one way to do it.” Batman scowled and peeled out of the alleyway just missing the police cars that turned into the street they had just left. Laughter filled the car for a few seconds, then an irritated groan of pain, that died out into silence, the man gripping his bleeding chest, but he wouldn't let Batman know that.

 

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When Joker isn't in the scene. It's hard to write. LOL. If that even makes sense. I suppose he normally dominates the scenes in any given case anywhere, and he's a fun character to write. They are indeed much fast to write. So needless to say this one took awhile. Simply because he wasn't really in it until later. Lol. Its pretty long. So enjoy. The next one might not be as long. Then again it might... I have no idea.

Anyways! Read, review, kudo, comment, favorite idk do shit. Love is makes me edit these things so they're legible.


	5. Deranged Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ride to the second Joker attack isn't a quiet one.

Someone brought up a good question. Which Joker am I basing this one off of. Answer would be all of them. I love the concept of the Joker but all of them seem to have things I either like or dislike. The back-stories, looks, jokes, personality, voice, desires ect. So basically this is a compilation of Joker parts from multiple medias. I would say he looks more like Heath Ledger without make up, except paler, while in make up he looks more traditional. His makeup isn't a mess like Heath Ledgers make-up, but its not as defined as his original looks because he does indeed have the scars. While dressed up he has slicked back hair, but while not he has the curly short hair Ledger had. He does have almost inhumanly pale skin, and his eyes are brighter then the average green you can find in actual human beings. This goes with the back-story I am going with, which if you haven't noticed isn't consistent with any singular comic universe. Its more of just the pieces that I feel portrays my Joker correctly. I would have to say the Arkham version of the Joker is the closest to personality I've seen or heard, love Troy Baker's voice. 

I feel like the range in between incarnations can be rather ridiculous. Just as Batman's portrayals aren't all the same, you can have anything from self-righteous sarcastic good humored vigilante to a dark paranoid, multiple personality, stoic anti-social anti-hero. Obviously mine is not the one with personality disorders. Lol. However with the Joker you can have anything from completely nutters, no direction, bland sense of humor, with horrible puns. (Some of those comics lol) To someone with an actual grand end game, even though the end game makes less sense to normal human beings, he still has a direction, an intelligence and a sarcastic morbid sense of humor. He can also go from completely insane 24/7 to having an actual sense of sanity in his own twisted way. You can obviously tell which way I went with that one. Cough.

BUT! I have to say I hated, okay hate is a strong word, disliked, Heath Ledger's delivery of his lines. So I would prefer, you read his lines with the Arkham line voice. Don't get me wrong Heath did an amazing job for his brand of the Joker. He was creepy and chaotic just like the doctor ordered, but I felt he was missing the refined grace, I feel, the Joker possesses. Too many twitches. While the Joker DOES have twitches, not that often. Lol

ANYWHO! Enjoy the update! Don't flame me for not liking a dead man. 10 things I hate about you is my favorite chick flick.

Get excited Fallon.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Shattered Identities

Chapter 5

Deranged Train

XxxxxxxxxxxX

If Bruce thought the car ride, all the way from the rundown church. Which was uptown. To the high class bank, which was down town. Was going to be a quiet one... he would be wrong, because it seemed the Joker didn't know how to shut up, regardless of how many times his head had been slammed into unyielding objects that night. 

They had barely made it two minutes into the drive before the madman had broken the uneasy quiet. Those few minutes he had been spent in silence inspecting Batman intensely in the passing lights. Taking in every possible detail of the man beside him. Every trace of visible skin, the line of his lips, the angle of his jaw. The press of the cowl against his flesh, the dark charcoal makeup smudged on his eyelids. The grip of his gloved hands on the steering wheel, the taunt biceps straining against his black suit. How his stormy blue eyes narrowed and jaw muscles clenched under the madman's scrutiny. Every detail, taken in intently by bright green eyes. 

Bruce wanted to feel nervous, but he didn't have that luxury right now. Batman didn't get nervous, Batman had nothing to be nervous about, because Batman wasn't a person. So there was nothing for the Joker to find... if only he really believed that, if only he really were one person. Wasn't it just a few hours ago he felt Bruce couldn't handle Arkham, yet Batman could? Wasn't he Batman and Bruce? Was Batman really just a suit? He resisted the urge to shake his head, no, Batman was an idea. Justice. Yet under Joker's eyes he felt less like Batman then usual. If he had to choose one villain out of them all to never discover his true identity it would be the madman. It seemed fate had a twisted sense of humor.

Finally the Joker cocked his head, lips pursed, eyes squinting at the man as if he were a puzzle that couldn't be left unsolved. His hand, which had been tapping some unknown tune against the door of the car lifted from its position, gesturing one pale finger towards the raw scabs trailing down his cheek. His body was curled between the seat and the door, angled towards his captor, one leg bent, his foot resting on Batman's expensive seats. The scratches were a reminder of the nights events, and how the Joker's brand of insanity was unique to the rest of the high security inmates held in Arkham. 

“Now those.” The Joker broke into a tight smile, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip, he scrunched his nose in distaste. 

“Those, look painful.” He chuckled finally breaking his unblinking stare, shifting to sit properly in his seat, he pressed his head back against the headrest. He threw his free hand up and over the top of the chair, letting it rest limply on the edge. He snuggled into the seat, maneuvering his dirt covered standard issue shoes onto the dashboard, the toes tapping together, the only outlet for the Joker's own song of madness, the finger's handing into the back twitching slightly. Batman watched the man's movements meticulously from the corner of his eye, his hands tense ready to shove the madman away from any buttons he didn't need to be near. The Clown moved his cuffed hand from its position resting against the center console, the short chain between them tinkling with the movement. The Joker's tongue flicked up cleaning his front teeth with an audible sounds, obviously used to garner the Dark Knights attention. A scowl tugged at his scared lips before he opened his mouth again.

“Lovers quarrel, perhaps?” The Joker asked inspecting his bloodied fingernails with distaste. Nailing something out from under his index finger he flicked it to the floor. Bruce's eyes narrowed farther, debating whether just knocking the man out was a better solution for the night, he didn't want to know whose DNA the madman just left on his floor. The Clown's eyes snapped to Batman when no snarky reply came his way. His hair scrubbed against the seat as he turned his head towards the vigilante, taking in Batman's tense form with narrowed eyes. 

“Dear little Cat Woman? Hm?” A little in take of breath, “Sleeping with your little Robin?” The Joker suggested leaning forward in his seat, his feet falling back to the floor, his eyes widening at the prospect. 

“Is she jealous? I'd be jealous. Hell!” The exclaimed before his voice grew dark, his head tilting fowrad. “I was jealous.” 

“But!” His head snapped back up, his face bright with amusement. 

“Wouldn't that be the puuuuurrr-fect lovers triangle? Or would it be a square?” The Joker giggled drawing a square in the air, watching Batman with sharp eyes, waiting for any possible twitch the man would make against his accusations. 

Except he didn't. The vigilante kept his eyes on the streets, ignoring the man completely, despite how much the madman's words made the Batman's blood boil. The Clown glared, his lips tightening, his teeth grinding together briefly before suddenly the look was gone. The Joker broke his fixed gaze, taking a deep breath through his nose, he leaned towards the Bat. Placing his elbow on the center console between them, avoiding a few flashing buttons out of self preservation, he crossed his legs at the knee. Batman's gloved hand slid down to the stick shift near the Joker's new position, making sure the madman didn't send them through a building, the cuffs chain clinking between them as he moved. The Joker rested his chin on his pale fingers, smirking at the stoic man beside him. 

“Aw, whats wrong Bats... Cat got your tongue?” The Joker whispered with a chuckle, again he got no answer and the madman growled in frustration throwing his head back against the padded seat with an exaggerated sigh, he took a deep breath tossing his head back, his face towards the ceiling.

“Baaaaaaaaaats!” The Prince of Anarchy whined pitifully, Bruce gritted his teeth against the irritating sound, his hand tightening on the steering wheel, the high pitched noise grating on his patience. With a frustrated huff the Clown flung himself sideways, getting into Batman's personal space, his face inches from the cowl.

“Yooouu Whooo! Bats!” The Joker yelled painfully into the vigilante's ear, Batman's upper lip twitched, obviously fighting the scowl that tried to work its way onto his features, his resolve wearing thin.

“I'm right here, Super Star! You know. I don't ask for much, just a little attention for a poor old clown.” The madman complained with a huff of disappointment. The male backed away a little, scowling at him. After a second of heated glaring his free hand shot out, reaching for the vigilante. The Dark Knight's cuffed hand instantly snapped up from its position on the stick shift, seizing the offending appendage mid air inches from his suit, the movement yanking the Joker's cuffed hand with him. Batman's grip tightened painfully on the Prince of Crime's wrist, a scowl finally creeping onto the vigilante's lips. 

“Shut. Up.” The Caped Crusader growled refusing to give the madman his full attention, his eyes still dutifully glued to the road. Said prisoner pouted at his words his hand opening and closing in need, still reaching for him. He threw the Joker's hand back towards the man, hoping it would hit the Clown in his obnoxious face. It didn't. The madman's eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, with tight pursed lips as he cradled the hand, like it had been deemed unworthy, when in the end he was the only thing that was, but no one seemed to understand that. Determination flashed in his brilliant orbs, his chained hand, the left, glided up to hold the back of Batman's seat near his broad shoulders. The vigilante's gloved hand forced to follow the Joker's own the chain pulling taunt between them.

“Awww come on hero!” The madman leaned forward again, towering a little above the Dark Knight, his head and shoulders pressing against the ceiling. Batman's eyes narrowed and he tore his cuffed hand back down, ripping the Joker's hand from its place on his headrest. The Clown almost fell from the sudden shift in his weight his other hand slapping against the front console to stabilize himself, pressing a few buttons in the process. The window wipers came on, and a cloud of smoke emitted around the car, which quickly dissipated, left behind in their speed across town. Batman barely shifted his head towards the madman his eyes leveling him with a glare.

“Oops, look what you made me do!” The Joker removed his hands quickly sitting back into his seat. Bruce resisted the urge to roll his eyes, turning back to the road.

“Come on! I'm just curious! Indulge me a little. Or a lot.” The madman added flirtatiously raising his eye brows. Batman gritted his teeth clicking the windshield wipers off. Narrowing his eyes he finally looked over meeting the dancing green ones staring back at him in transfixed amusement, obsession. Bruce hated to admit it, but that look sent shivers of concern, shock, something, down his spine. It wasn't human to be so throughly consumed by one person. So enthralled. The playboy had admirers of course, some of them border-lining stalkers, while others were way over that line. Yet none of them had ever held that look, that obsession. The Detective turned back to the road not a second later, refusing to give the crime lord any more of his attention, refusing to read any more from those insanity rimmed eyes.

“I'm not going to dignify your deranged questions with an answer.” Batman finally grunted out through gritted teeth. The Joker gasped loudly in mock pain, jerking back as if he had been slapped, his free hand held against his chest dramatically, the other slapping against his seat, tugging batman's wrist with him.

“Ouch. Batsy! That hurts!” The madman exhaled faintly, clenching his fist around his tattered clothes, a look of deep seeded pain twisting his features. Batman shook his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. 

“No it doesn't.” Batman stated dryly, his eyes still glued to the road, watching as the buildings slowly became less decrepit and decayed. He paused, letting the madman cock a curious eyebrow at his comment. The Joker opened his mouth, ready to reply when the vigilante cut him off. 

“You know what does hurt?” The Dark Knight asked slowly giving the maniac a second to process his question, trying to keep the smirk from his lips. The Joker frowned briefly, opening his mouth to reply, but it seemed Batman had a different plan. He took a sharp turn hard, refusing to slow down, the Bat Mobile slid dangerously across the asphalt, gravity jerking them towards the Joker's side of the car. The madman slammed into the window painfully, his backside cracking against the bullet proof glass, the side of the door jamming into his back muscles, the top of his head hitting the moldings. The vigilante straightened the car back out just as swiftly and the Clown was hurled forward. His hands slamming against the dashboard and center console in an attempt to stop himself from falling head first into Batman. Bruce finally let the smirk slip onto his angular lips. The Prince of Crime gritted his teeth in pain, slowly tilting his head up to glare at the vigilante through matted curly green strands. Batman turned his head towards the Clown giving him a once over, an almost invisible smirk on his lips. Taking in his white knuckled grip against the car. His deep scowl and hate filled glare with intelligent absinthe green eyes. The faded hair that fell into his sickly pale face. A face that looked more gaunt then it usually did, lips less crimson, more natural, if a little too pale. Not that Bruce knew too much about how the man looked without the makeup, but no one's lips should be that light in color. Not that any of that detracted from the Detectives current amusement. There was silence in the car, and the vigilante tilted his head at the maniac, a smirk finally breaking across his face.

“Not wearing your seatbelt.” Batman informed him, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. The Joker's scowl slowly fell from his own face, followed by confusion which quickly morphed into wide eyes that stared at the Bat in near shock. Slowly those lips parted, the scared edges tugging up until a smile was revealed. Then a chuckled left the madman, slowly gaining momentum, and the Joker was laughing hysterically. Clutching his sides, he coughed through the laughter, falling back into his seat. The laughter sounded painful, and the Caped Crusader resisted shaking his head in belief at the gargled giggles. How the Joker managed to keep it up for another thirty seconds was beyond him. The sound echoing through the car, both unhealthy gasps of breath and maniacal laughter.

“You're going to hurt yourself.” The vigilante muttered while the Joker wheezed in his seat, fighting painfully for enough breath to start up again. Eventually it seemed he gave up, choosing instead to reply.

“What? Hurt myself? Now why would I do that, when I've got you here to do it for me?!” The Joker gritted out, his voice horse from the coughing, his grin more of a grimace when he smiled. He took in a sudden sharp breath, his hand pressed against his chest, his face paler then before, breathing shallow. Bruce wanted to groan in irritation. Watching the Joker was like babysitting a homicidal, self destructive three year old with his own level of stubbornness. By the time the night was over Batman probably wouldn't even need to watch the madman, he'd of landed himself in the hospital by then, simply because he couldn't stop laughing.

“Not that I'm complaining.” The Joker finally exhaled, before a small cough took him over. 

“You can lay your hands on me whenever you'd like sweet cheeks.” The Joker added on with a sultry look, still looking pathetic in the after math of his laughing fit.

“You're going to tear your stitches.” Batman stated slowing down as they finally neared their destination, well close to it. He could see the flashing lights from the police barricade farther down the road. He needed to find a side alley to park in so they could make their way to the scene. Or he could. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to take the maniac in with him, but he had no way to safely knock the male out without the chance of him getting back up while he was gone. Sure he could smash the Clown's head against something hard, not that it had seemed to be doing much so far, but it never lasted long and the man was right. Those cuffs wouldn't hold him. Not even for a full five seconds. Hell Bruce wasn't even sure why he was still cuffed now. None of his tranquilizers would last the allotted time, the Joker had easily built up a tolerance to them in Arkham. Again, this seemed like the only option.

“Aww you care!” The Joker exclaimed running a hand through his messy locks, finally straightening up, sweeping them out of his face. 

“Don't worry bright eyes, I'm a tougher cookie then that.” The madman informed Batman, biting his bottom lip seductively, not that the vigilante was paying much attention. They had finally made it to an off alley. The police lights barely visible, even though they were only two blocks over. Normally it would be a cake walk to get into the bank. He could glide in, zip line, grapple swing, hell he could walk in, the police would probably not pay him much mind if he slipped by silently. Silently wasn't possible while he was attached to the Joker. He could glide in but he was pretty sure the Joker wasn't going to appreciate that. Grappling could work, but they'd have to get close. Zip lining would be loud, especially with the glass windows, the place didn't have balconies. The easiest and quietest entrance would be through the roof. Speaking of the roof, or any other part of the building. Bruce lifted his wrist opening up a panel he downloaded the schematics from his database of the banks layout. Which just so happened to be out of date, they had remodeled earlier that year. Fantastic.

“Oracle.” Batman grunted, turning his headset on with his free hand, ignoring the irritated sound the Joker threw at him for being ignored yet again.

“Batman. Good to hear from you. What do you need? Are you there yet?” Oracle rambled off, the soft clicking of keys could be heard in the background.

“I'm nearby. I need the new blueprints for the remodeled floors.” The Joker sighed, shifting in his seat again, throwing his feet onto the dashboard, his fingers tapping erratically against the window in boredom.

“I'm on it.” Barbra informed him, the line falling dead.

“Calling your girlfriend? I'd love to meet her. Oh! We could have a sleep over! Do each others make-up! I know a thing or two about make-up. She'd be sleeping the most though. Probably wouldn't wake up, if you, uh. You get it. You always get it.” The Joker chuckled darkly, his fingers tapping out an unknown tune onto the glass. Batman ignored him, one thing the Joker loved was people rising to his baits. Sadistic bastard.

“We'll have to go in from the roof.” The vigilante informed him, unlocking the Bat Mobile, the roof sliding backwards to unleash them on the world.

“Ooooh?! I still get to come along?!” The Joker squealed excitedly, clapping his hands, he leaned in a little to close for Bruce's comfort. 

“How exciting, you my friend are a saint!” The crime lord threw his arms out almost as if he expected Batman to return a hug. There was a pause, the madman licked his lips looking down sucking air in through gritted teeth. 

“Buuuuut uh, I didn't purchase frequent flier miles. Don't get me wrong! I love! Oh do I love. Your body pressed against, mine.” The Joker exhaled longing in his voice, then his hands came up flexing in the air as if he were grasping for something. 

“It's the lack of holding places that bugs me, I mean really?! How the hell do you expect me to keep my paws off that, fabulous, back of yours? Have you, seen, those muscles?!” The madman exclaimed his cuffed hand shooting out faster then Batman could stop it, the vigilante's own hand jerking painfully after it. The maniac's finger's caressed the back of his neck, trailing to his shoulder affectionately. Bruce could barely feel the touch through his Kevlar, but it still gave him the creeps.

“Felt them?” The Joker added after a pause, taking in the feel of Batman's Kevlar encased back. 

“I have. And gorgeous. Its not something you don't touch.” The Joker leaned in close his voice whispering into Batman's cowl, “Its just not.” The Clown whispered and the Caped Crusader's free hand jerked up, his gloved fingers pressing into the man's face, he pushed him roughly out of his personal bubble.

“Then you'll have to contain yourself because that, is what is going to happen.” Bruce growled, the madman fell back into his seat with a grunt, slapping Batman's hand away from his face with a scowl.

“Is it now?” The Clown hissed through gritted teeth. 

“What do I look like, one of your pigeons? How about we take the not so scenic route? Hm? That sounds like a fantastic idea! Yeah, lets do that.” The Joker nodded vigorously shifting in his seat he placed one hand on the side of the door, getting ready to vault out of the car.

“What are you talking about?” Batman asked eyeing the madman wearily, not really sure he even wanted to hear it.

“The sewers, Cream Puff!” The Joker stated like it was obvious, making his move to exit the car, their minds made up, tugging Batman's cuffed hand with him. The Dark Knight narrowed his eyes, a frown pulling at his lips, he yanked the clown back into the car using their joined hands. Said maniac slipped backwards into the seat with a pained grunt, one hand gripping the side of the car keeping his head from from meeting painfully with the center console, his other hand hanging limply in the cuff just in front of Batman. The Clown scowled, a groan of pain passing his lips.

“Bats.” The Joker growled darkly, he released his hold on the door, falling the rest of the way into the seat. Swiftly he let his knees fall to his chest, and suddenly Bruce had a jaw full of shoe rubber, his head snapping to the side, his bruised ribs slamming into the door. His ear stung, his teeth throbbing he slowly moved his free hand up to touch the side of his jaw tenderly, the taste of blood pooling in his mouth. He jerked his head towards the Joker's grinning face, the maniac's body still contorted, folded in at the waist, his legs held in the air by his head. Batman snarled viciously, snatching one of the madman's ankle before he could pull them away to safety. The Clown's grin immediately fell off his face as he tugged uselessly at the vigilante's grip, unable to do much from his knotted position.

“The sewers aren't connected to the bank, not in anyway we can get in.” Batman ground out, tightening his grip on the man's ankle, he tugged him towards his side, pulling the creep farther into his folded position. The madman hissed in pain, sliding a little on the seat, his hands gripping the interior in attempt to stop himself from crushing his injured lungs further.

“That you know of.” The Joker bitched, his breathing labored, his own weight constricting his ribcage. The Dark Knight threw the man's foot back to him with an irritated growl. The Joker immediately uncurled himself, taking in a deep breath as the pressure was released. He scrambled, undignified, into a sitting position, brushing off his torn and bloody clothing like it was a Prada exclusive. Blue eyes glowered at the pale man before tearing them away, he grimaced working his jaw. He leaned over the edge of the Bat Mobile, and spat the mouth full of blood onto the asphalt. Swallowing in disgust, he slowly turned back around, fixing the Joker with a predatory glare. He suddenly lunged out of his seat, one cuffed glove encased hand slapping against the Joker's head rest, his unshackled one cocked into a fist, ready to punch the man in his grinning face, his cape flared out behind him. Then his communications snapped on freezing him in place, the cape fluttering to a rest, his hand still poised for the punch. The madman's own free hand had shot out in front of his face, his cuffed one being held back by the cuffs, not much defense against the Dark Knights retaliation. Playful giggles passed his scared smiling lips as the Caped Crusader bore down on him. 

“Batman.” Oracle broke through the com, stopping him from slamming his fist into that smiling face. She didn't need to hear that. “I can't get anything, apparently the new blueprints were never uploaded digitally, its all paper.” Batman flexed his fist, scowling down at the grinning lunatic. 

“Guess we're going in blind.” The Detective replied to her, holding back a sigh of frustration, he let his fist fall, no longer in the mood to pound the man's face in, yet.

“Yeah, wait. We?” Barbra asked skeptically and Bruce reached his hand up. 

“I'll call you later.” He stated shutting the line down, watching the maniac's earlier amusement die out.

“I am. Not!” The Joker exclaimed jerking his cuffed hand to his chest childishly, yanking Batman's with it. The vigilante's hand was wrenched from its position on the side of the chair, the hand that held most of his weight. Gravity tore him downwards, his previously clenched gloved hand shooting out to slam against the side of the car. His face inches from the Joker's own smirking one. The Dark Knight growled in irritation, his grip tightening against the steel, while the Joker chuckled.

“ – Crashing in through the ceiling like Zoro.” The madman whispered leaning upwards, shortening the small distance they already had between them. His hot breath caressing Bruce's tense jaw. 

“Not unless you want to get us both killed.” His eyes shifted down to Batman's sharp lips, and he licked his own scared ones. The Caped Crusader's muscles tensed as he pushed a few inches, increasing the distance between them, his stomach muscles taunt, keeping his body from falling on top of the Joker's.

“We wouldn't die.” Batman whispered back with a deep gutteral tone, the glare never leaving his face.

“Says you, soldier boy. I on the other hand happen to be flesh and bone.” The Joker reached down pulling up his shirt, exposing the flesh of his stomach. Batman pushed himself back farther, unable to stop himself from glancing down, taking in the train wreck on the man's skin. Bruises littered his torso like a disease, spreading from one side to the other, up his lithe abs, dotted with scrapes and scratches. The right side of his chest was bandaged blood soaking through the white material, the left still had his tattered shirt covering it, a nipple barely peaking out. Bruce's eyes snapped back to the madman's.

“I'm sure you've noticed.” The Joker smirked as Batman stared down at him in stunned silence, those bruises would hurt like hell.

“Besides if this guy is even half as smart as most people he'll have the entire upper floors booby trapped. Its what I'd do.” The Joker informed him slyly, jerking his shirt back down, Bruce swallowed taking a deep breath, tearing his eyes away from the madman's vivid green ones.

“He's not you.” Batman replied vaguely, unable to shake the sight of the man's abused skin from his mind. 

“No, he's not.” The Joker answered, his free hand leaving the hem of his shirt to press sensually against the Vigilante's hard abs. 

“And you keep that in mind.” The Clown suggested his hand trailing up along his abs, and over a chiseled peck. Batman's cuffed hand snapped up, snatching the Joker's free hand away from his body.

“What's that supposed to mean?” The Dark Knight growled, lowering himself a few inches, trapping the other man's hand against the back of the seat, his cuffed one stuck in the same vacinity.

“That he could have no, qualms, about killing your pretty little, self.” The Joker chuckled his hand flexing against the seat, Bruce could feel the tendons shift beneath his fingers. Batman's eyes narrowed in thought, unsure of the madman's suggestion. The last one hadn't seemed too gun-hoe about killing him.

“If he's a clone – .” Batman started, but a hand closed around his neck, jerking his own away from the seat. The Joker's face suddenly inches away from his own, an angry snarl on his lips. 

“You think they can clone me?!” The Joker hissed his grip tightening. His cuffed hand encassing as much of the vigilante's neck as it could. Batman still held the madman's free hand in his own cuffed one, their wrists getting tangled. 

“My brilliance?! You think that is just, What? Bought in a doctors office?” The madman spit at him, anger clear in his absinthe colored eyes that bore into Batman's own, his grip becoming painful even for his Kevlar suit. Bruce released the Joker's hand to grab the other one, attempting to pull it away from his windpipe, he wouldn't do any real damage. Not like he had done at Arkham yesterday.

“I have books, upon books, of speculations! About me Bats! And none of them, even come. Close. To who.” The Joker laughed sardonically, “To what, I am.” The Dark Knight tore the madman's pale hand from his throat, a matching scowl on his own lips.

“Hell I don't even know! So how the fuck would they?!” The Joker ripped his hand out of the vigilante's grip. He raised those, palm up by his head in a gesture of surrender.

“All I know, is that I keep you around, for fun.” The man whispered, his free hand moving up to caress Batman's masculine jawline, a small chuckle leaving his lips. The Dark Knight jerked away from him, straightening up and out of this reach entirely, one knee on the center console, the other leg still in the divers seat, his boot on the floor board.

“Of course. Who the hell would think your fun?! I mean look at you! Dower and dull.” The Joker complained gesturing to the perfect male specimen towering above him. Batman glared down at him, his lips tight, while the Joker stared back, a loose smile on his own. 

“Fine, say your right.” Batman indulged him, his hand coming back up to lean against the Joker's head rest, but still not anywhere close to his personal space.

“I'm right.” The Joker insisted with a frown and a cocked eyebrow. 

“They remodeled several months ago, what if they blocked your entrance?” The vigilante countered darkly, looking down on the Clown.

“Oh. They didn't.” The Joker insisted rolling his eyes, when Batman didn't look impressed he elaborated.

“Come on! Its how they smuggle the French mobs money in and out of the city.” The madman, gestured back and forth sitting up, with a superior smirk on his face.

“The what?” Batman asked his eyes narrowing, he'd never heard of such a thing. 

“Exactly.” The Joker sang with a giggle. 

“I've never heard – .”

“Thats the point.” The Clown whined, tossing his head back in exasperation.

“There aren't many things I don't know about.” Batman growled his grip tightening on the seat again.

“You're rather near sighted peanut, there's plenty you don't know. You care about this city.” The Joker stated, the soul piercing stare leveled on the vigilante. 

“Not much else. Wonder how your bat boys handle that.” The Joker replied smuggly, his hand reaching out yet again to touch the Bat. The Dark Knight's hand stopping him for a third time with an irritated grunt.

“Stop. Touching. Me. And no. I wont let you run me around in circles, if those people die, it wont be on me.” Batman growled out, leaning back he turned around leaping gracefully out of the Bat Mobile, his right hand tugging painfully behind him when the Joker didn't follow fast enough. The maniac glowered at him, then narrowed on the cuffs, debating.

“Get out.” The vigilante grunted giving the man's wrist a tug with his own. The Joker tossed his head backward in exasperation.

“Come on! First you want me in, now you want me out! Make up your mind! I'm beginning to wonder which one of us is more of a woman.” The madman giggled slinking his way out of the Bat Mobile, to land in front of the Vigilante just as gracefully. 

“We're going my way. From the roof top.” The Dark Knight grunted at him, daring the man to challenge it. The Joker hissed in some air through his teeth, tensing his shoulders he rocked onto the tips of his toes then back a few times. Groaning the madman looked down at the ground, looking back at him up at him with a sweet smile which quickly turned into a smirk.

“Good luck getting me up there Sugar.” The Joker exhaled, then slumped to the ground bonelessly, making himself comfortable on the grungy asphalt near Batman's boots. Slightly surprised the vigilante simply stared down at him for a few seconds, while the madman just smiled pleasantly back, one arm suspended limply in the air by the cuffs. The Caped Crusader nodded his head dryly, his lips tightening. He shuffled his boots, closing the short distance between them and the Joker's body, the tips of his toes knocking against the man's side none too gently. Batman hovered over him, his shadow cast over the man. A smirk graced his angular lips as the vigilante bent down, grasping the thin man under his arms.

“Good thing you're light.” He smirked easily hauling the Joker off the black pavement. The Clown let out an indignant yelp as he was thrown effortlessly into the air and over the Dark Knight's shoulder. A gust of air left the madman's lips as his bruised stomach met the Kevlar hardened shoulder. Bruce almost wanted to feel sorry, but there was no sympathy for the devil.

“Hey! What the Hell! Let me down you giant oaf! I'm not going, damn it!” The Joker exclaimed his feet kicking violently forcing Batman to tilt his head away from the man's squirming legs.

“You should eat something.” The vigilante replied closing the subject of the crime lord having a choice in the matter, he hefted him into the air again fixing his grip. The Joker growled his hands fisting into his black cape.

“How about you?!” The madman growled his teeth digging into Batman's Kevlar suit, doing nothing but hurting the Clown in the process, he gnawed away at pieces of his muscled back regardless. Batman felt slightly sorry for his cape, but it had seen worse. 

“Don't hurt yourself.” Batman suggested with a smirk carrying the Joker down the grungy side alley and around a corner, looking for a fire escape, anything he could get the Clown to the roof with, with out losing him with all his thrashing. There didn't seem to be any however and Bruce didn't want to waste time looking at another building. Unbuckling his grappling hook he ignored the Joker's howled protests, and flailing limbs, shooting it onto the roof top. 

“Batsy! Babe! Seriously! Lets talk about this! It's really not that – .” Batman pressed the button and they zipped up the side of the building, barely half a second later the Joker's stomach was in his throat. There was a loud zing, a snap, and the line went slack. The world slowed down the ground moved towards them, Joker face first for the show. They passed one set of windows, and the vigilante's grip on the madman loosened throwing him back into the air. The Joker stared in horror as he pulled the Bat's cape with him, his hands still fisted in its fabric, their bodies parted, air rushing between them, fear gripped the madman. Not fear of dying, fear that Batman would actually let him, that he wasn't worth saving. Then he felt a tug on his clothes, hands tightened on his back, the ground so close, he was pulled back in, their bodies finally touching. Strong arms tightened around him, holding him flush against a well toned build. They hit the ground hard, the air rushing painfully out of both their lungs from the impact. Batman's head was curled up near his own, avoiding a collision with the pavement, his back taking all of the blow, the Joker safely clutched to his chest. Hot breath rushed across the Joker's neck, the he was unceremoniously thrown off of the vigilante, who rolled over onto his side, coughing painfully, one hand clutching his stomach. The Joker could feel more scratches on his arm from the meeting with the pavement, the Bat could have been gentler. His own hand came up to press against his wounded chest, his other hand straining harshly against the cuff, bruising his wrist.

“I told you. It was a dumb idea.” The Joker wheezed, his breathing painful, he could feel his bandage saturating in blood. Groaning the Clown collapsed back against the ground, staring at the smoggy light polluted sky. Batman got to his hands and knees, painfully making his way onto his feet. The vigilante stood for a second, trying to push down the pain coursing through his back. There were going to be some ugly bruising tomorrow, much like the Joker's stomach actually. Finally Batman moved, walking a few feet away from the building, tugging Joker's hand with him, the man sliding across the pavement with each step, his tattered shirt doing little to save him from the rough surface. The Caped Crusader picked up his grappling gun, inspecting it. The end was severed completely, which wasn't possible with normal bullets, he designed these to never fail.

“Roof top snipers?” The Dark Knight muttered staring around at the top of the neighboring buildings. Obviously they were covered on the street, it was only when they cleared the shorter building towards the bank that they were shot at. 

“Wow! Why didn't I ever think of that?!” The Joker exclaimed sarcastically, one hand holding his tender chest. He pushed himself a little off the ground, leaning on one forearm, leveling Batman with a dry stare.

“They must have armor piercing rounds.” The Detective stated staring at his broken gadget.

“Cheats.” The Joker muttered, flopping back to the ground. 

“You know. I'd like to stay in the car. I'm not dying, for your self-righteous, incentives.” The Joker complained with a hiss, glowering around the dirty, yet garbage free street, it was obvious they were downtown.

“Oh look, the entrance to the sewers! How convenient is that?! To bad, someone! Is a stubborn little bitch and couldn't have just taken. My fucking advice!” The madman continued with his sarcasm, throwing a tantrum like a child, gesturing angrily towards a circular metal lid in the middle of the street. Batman looked towards the rooftops again, his lips tight in anger. It looked like he didn't have a choice. He couldn't leave the Joker here, so he couldn't take out all of the snipers, or even stealthily make a path to the bank.

“Calm down.” Batman suggested staring at the sewer entrance, debating any other option then trusting the word of a madman, what was it that the Joker always said? Did I ever lie to you? Technically he never had, that didn't mean he doesn't tell half truths.

“Don't. Tell me. To calm down! I'm the one with a shot wound here! This isn't like Arkham City! I can drown in my own blood, well, actually. I could have there too, to be honest.” The Joker chuckled with a morbid smile. The Dark Knight turned his gaze down to the madman, taking a deep breath.

“If this is a trap or something, I will kill you.” Batman threatened, and the Joker laughed up at him, taking a sharp breath he cut off, swallowing hard.

“Sure you will Heart Throb, and I will drop my jokes and become an upstanding citizen of Gotham.” It was obvious the Joker wanted to cackle with joy at his own jest, but couldn't thanks to his injury. Bruce tugged at their cuffed hands, getting the madman's attention.

“Lets go.” Batman grunted already taking a few steps towards the sewers before the Joker could get to his feet. Sighing dramatically the Clown followed after his favorite hero. They stopped near the lid and the Bat stooped down yanking it from its rusted place, holding back a grunt of pain as it strained his bruised back. The metal screeched along the ground as he tossed it aside.

“Hubba hubba.” The Joker muttered wagging his eyebrows. Batman's eyes snapped up to him, a glare firmly in place as he straightened up. The madman stood on the other side of the open hole, staring down into the darkness. 

“Well, ladies first.” The Prince of Crime snickered, gesturing for Batman to take the lead. 

“You're right.” The vigilante stated tugging hard on their joined wrists, the Joker took a step forward to stop himself, realized there was nothing to step on and lost his balance slipping into the opening. Batman stepped forward as well, wrapping a hand around the man's back, pulling him close they fell into the darkness. His boots splashed into the rancid water, the chill creeping through his suit, the Joker groaning in disgust against him. The Caped Crusader released his hold on the man pulling out a flash light, he clicked it on.

“Ack. This was a terrible idea, who's idea was this? They're barmy.” The Joker complained jokingly, and Bruce accidentally let a small chuckle escape. The madman's head snapping up to stare in wonder at the cowled man. Then the pale male flashed the Dark Knight a dazzling smile. Bruce took a step back, swiftly tearing his eyes away from the man. He had a job to do, ignoring how, strange, normal, that smile had been on the man's face.

“It should be to the left.” Batman said waiting for the Joker's confirmation. The madman remained quiet for a moment, a dour mood settling over them.

“Yeah,” The man answered with a sour whisper, “It should be.” Then the Joker trudged ahead of him, his shoulders slumped, one hand on his chest, the other trailing behind him linked to the vigilante's own. Batman watched him for a few seconds, slugging through the water, for once completely silent. Watched the murky soak into his already dirty clothes. Bruce was suddenly glad he sprayed his wounds with a liquid repelling bandage. This place smelled disgusting, why was this night so irritatingly long?

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This Chapter is definitely shorter then the last two, but to be honest. I have to have the Joker in every chapter. Because life's fun like that. So unless he's in it, it'll keep going until he is lol. Anyway, the next chapter will probably be shorter as well... maybe. Who fucking knows, I sure as hell don't. Rofl.

ANYWHO! Your comments make me happy. Kudos and favorites make me smile. :D

Yes! Fallon! I know! You want more! Lol. You keep me going man. :P


	6. Flashing Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unlikely duo continue their journey to the bank!

Welcome back to another installment of “What the fuck is going on?!” Enjoy.

Okay just a chronological order type thing in my technical world. The Joker does stuff all the time but chronologically, Barbra is shot, Jason is killed, Nightwing leaves, Tim becomes Red Robin, Dark Knight, Arkham: Asylum, Arkham: City, present. Whew. I'm not saying everything that happened in the comics happened in this universe, because I've never read all of the comics so I can't incorporate any of them into this. 

Shattered Identities

Chapter 6

Flashing Lights

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

“Feeling at home Bats?” The Joker finally crooned, breaking the strange silence between them as they trudged through the foul smell sludge. The Dark Knight's flash light the only source of light in the dank enclosed space. The walls were the same, dark brown to black muck covered the bricks, rusting pipes ran along the middle crisscrossing, disappearing and re-appearing at random. 

“Yeah, if I lived in a dumpster.” Batman replied sourly, briefly wondering how long it would take to get the smell out of his suit. The madman tilted his head backward, taking in the vigilante's scowl. Dirty water soaked into his Arkham issued pants, every drop that splattered higher leaving a dark watery smudge. One hand slung behind him, hanging limply in the hand cuff. 

“Really?! I thought you'd like it here.” The maniac gestured at the grim colored walls enclosing them.

“I mean being a bat and all, I thought you'd be used to, guano.” The Joker snickered a smile back on his face, splashing a little too forcefully through the disgusting water in his amusement. Batman scowled as it spattered his lower abdomen, some rare drops hitting his chest, soaking into his Kevlar.

“One: I don't live in shit. Two: I'm surprised you know what guano is.” The Dark Knight muttered with a scowl, falling back a few more inches in an attempt to avoid the wretched water, the cuff biting into his Kevlar encased wrist. The Joker's smile immediately dropped from his face at Batman's words, replaced by a dry stare, a chuckle accompanying it.

“I'm crazy Bats!” The maniac exclaimed with a grin. 

“Not dumb.” The madman finished with a tight smirk, his eyes narrowing in annoyance giving their wrists a playful tug, Bruce fought the smile tugging at his lips. Batman shrugged his broad shoulders, breaking their eye contact, it was always strange that the Joker knew he was insane. Wasn't that the opposite of insanity, already knowing your insane?

“Yeah? I wonder some times.” The Detective shot back and the maniac rolled his eyes in reply, turning back around to stare into the darkness ahead. One hand coming up to trail along the mold covered walls, Bruce's lip curled in disgust as he collected sludge.

“My, well developed, dear.” The Joker started giving the Dark Knight a leisurely once over. 

“There is a, cavernous gap. Between delusional, egotistic dimwit and – ” The Joker drawled out pausing to draw a smiley face into the gunk growing on the sewer walls, his own smile gracing his lips.

“Obsessed, psychotic sadist? Or, is it masochist. I'm never quite sure with you.” Batman interjected sarcastically, pushing at the man's thin shoulder to get him walking again. The Joker barely budged an inch, only taking a steading step back in the water, Bruce swung the flash light onto the man. The maniac turned his vibrant green eyes to the vigilante, tutted and wagged his gunk covered finger at him. 

“Brilliant!” The Joker added, poking the grimy finger into the Bat symbol on Batman's chest pointedly, leaving a diseased trail of moss and sewage waste down the center. The Dark Knight scowled in disgust, grabbing the other male's hand he ripped it away from his clothes.

“Obsessed, psychotic. Sadomasochist!” The madman corrected his palms opening flamboyantly in emphasis. Bruce narrowed his eyes on the man, his lips thinning in annoyance. The Joker made a disappointed click with the side of his mouth.

“Almost sweet pea. So close. Oh. So close.” The Joker whispered, holding up his fingers, a tiny space in between them. The Dark Knight glared down at him, and the madman grinned back pushing away from the vigilante with a giggle. It was Bruce's turn to roll his eyes, but he was Batman, so he refrained from committing the action, letting the maniac slip out of his grip.

“You're impossible.” Batman muttered, decidedly taking the lead, making the tight squeeze past the crime lord, hoping he didn't get any more grim on his suit. 

“Oh ho ho.” The madman held his hands up in surrender letting the vigilante slip past in peace. By Bruce's calculations it should be about a minute before they were underneath the bank, this tunnel the Joker spoke of should be close and if it wasn't... Bruce wasn't sure who to be more angry at. Himself or the maniac beside him.

“Thats rich! Coming from the full grown. And boy! Do I mean full grown! Oh. But. Uh, not old sweethe...” The Joker trailed off a sour look on his face, like the words in his mouth tasted just as foul as the water they were trudging through.

“ – ty? Sweety? Nope, ruined.” The Joker whined pitifully, The Dark Knight turn to him and the madman held up a hand with a scowl, taking a deep breath. Batman raised an amused eyebrow at the action, not that the man could see it.

“Where was I? Oh yeah. Full grown, man. That dresses up as a Bat every night!” The Joker chuckled with amusement. Batman turned away at his words ready to continue on, they didn't have time for this, but the Clown refused to budge, the cuffs digging into their wrists. The Dark Knight turned around to glare at the clown, his jaw tight, the flash light almost blinding the madman as he leveled it on him. The Joker smiled sweetly closing the small distance between them, keeping their eyes locked. Bruce hated looking into those eyes, piercing deranged intelligence looking back at him, searching for nothing more then every last one of his dark secrets. He turned away again, they really didn't have time for this. He wasn't playing these games, his flash light shown on the empty sewers ahead.

“Instead of leading a real life. Like a normal. Human. Being.” The Joker whispered tilting his head, a knowing smirk on his lips. Bruce came to a stop turning around to face the madman, leveling his flashlight on the male. Batman's eyes narrowed on the pale maniac, sizing him up in all his deranged glory.

“Because you would know whats normal.” The vigilante grunted out sardonically, his lips thin in irritation. Despite what the madman believed, he had no right to judge Bruce's lifestyle.

“Come on! Like talking to a brick wall.” The Joker groaned in frustration, tilting his head back, he slapped a dirty palm to his head in disbelief, leaving smudges of moss if its place.

“Isn't that the point Bats! We aren't normal!” The maniac insisted frustration obvious in his stance, the way his hands tensed in their gesturing. 

“We. Don't. Know. Normal!” He cried out, gesturing violently between Batman and himself. Bruce ground his teeth in annoyance, ready to get back to the task at hand, he didn't need to hear this, he had people to save.

“Hell we don't want normal!” The Dark Knight shifted to turn around.

“No! No, no, no, no. no.” The Joker leapt forward his hands firmly on the vigilante's shoulders keeping him in place. 

“I bet.” The madman stated, holding on finger up in from of Batman's face, the flashlight cutting up between the two men, as if they were sharing ghost stories, secrets.

“Everyday. You look into the mirror, and wish you didn't have to walk into the sun light.” The Joker whispered slowly, a pleased smile gracing his lips when Batman's jaw muscles flexed. The madman stepped forward more, cutting out the little light streaming between their bodies.

“Is that what you do?” The Dark Knight growled out after a few moments of silence, refusing to back away or lash out, despite his desires to do so. The maniac grinned, raising an eyebrow he stepped back, a hand coming up to gesture at his scarred face.

“Uh, Sun?! On this skin?! Have you not seen! My complexion?! God no! That stuffs a killer.” Suddently the Joker's good humor slipped away.

“And I would know killers. Oh ho! Do I know the funniest ways to kill things!” The Joker cried out, a sharp edge to his voice. Batman scowled and the madman's smirk deepened with a twisted edge, cutting at the Dark Knights resolves.

“Not. Funny.” The vigilante ground out stepping closer to the Clown to tower over him, daring him to continue with his morbid jokes. 

“Alright, alright.” The Joker held up his hands in surrender, letting his head fall forward with a pout.

“You're right.” The maniac sighed dramatically, then a chuckle left his lips. His head jerked up, piercing eyes meet Batman's own.

“It's hilarious!” The madman exclaimed, leveling Batman with a biting gaze. 

“You know what was more funny? Harvey Dent.” The madman whispered taking a step forward again, the smirk back in place. Bruce scowled anger clawing at his insides, his fists clenched. His entire body tensing, begging him to smash the man's grinning face into the grim covered walls, just for uttering the name.

“Oh! Rachel Dawes? Huh?! That lovely! Woman you tried to save in his place.” The man sneered with a twisted smile, standing on his toes to close the distance between them even farther, walking his free fingers up the vigilante's chest. Batman's breathing was harsh, his muscles rigid, ready to strike, begging for release. The Joker frowned in indifference for a quick second, breaking their eye contact, before his smirk was back in place, his eyes just as cutting.

“Barbra. Gordon?” The Joker giggled tilting his head to the side like an adorable child asking for candy, his index and middle finger tapping out the words. Batman didn't move, didn't back down, didn't thrash out, didn't breath as the Joker leaned to the side, his body pressed against the vigilante's, his blood splattered cheek brushing against Bruce's own. The cowl protecting him from most of the touch, from the breath that would surely be caressing his ear.

“Jason.” The Joker whispered almost sensually. The world stood still, the madman closing his eyes ready for the pain. A deep breath was heaved, Batman's chest rising in his suit, the maniac's palm moving with it, the well trained body quivering with rage. Then the Dark Knight stepped away, turning his back on the Clown. The Joker froze in place at the sudden movement, his eyes wide, staring at that broad back. Any previous amusement or sick pleasure wiped from his features, stricken disbelief replacing it. The vigilante tugged calmly at the chain when he had finally walked as far away from the maniac as he could, not bothering to turn around to face him.

“Nothing? Nothing at all?” The madman exhaled shakily, Batman bowed his head staring at the water beneath them. He wanted to be angry, to hold on to that rage, but he couldn't, because that's what the man wanted. Joker wanted Bruce as angry as the madman felt and he wasn't going to allow it. He wasn't going to dredge up that pain just so he could momentarily feel better pounding the man's face in.

“Nothing?! Not a peep?! I just brought up your dead bird and you? You walk away?!” The Joker howled at him, giving their joined wrists a violent tug. The maniac lost his footing, almost falling into the murky waste when Batman refused to budge at his tantrum. The madman's hand slapped against the wall, his nails digging into the brick as he caught himself, water splashing up onto his shirt, into his face and hair. Silence reigned though the tunnel, only the soft drips of water and shallow pants could be heard. A feral growl ripped through the stale air, echoing ominously off the walls.

“Baaaats!” The water suddenly splashed, and Batman almost lost his balance as the smaller man threw his full weight onto the vigilante's back. The Dark Knight fell forward, arms flinging out to keep his balance, the flash light falling from his hands, swinging violently on its clip connected to his belt, the light danced swiftly across the walls and back again. The maniac wrapped his arms around the Caped Crusader's neck, throwing his entire weight backwards in an attempt to bring them both down. His thin legs wrapped around the Bat's waist, holding him tight, allowing him to apply pressure to the masked man's wind pipe. After a few seconds of struggling to regain his footing, Batman finally got his balance back, the Clown still attached to his back howling in frustration, unable to move him any farther.

“Get. Off.” The Dark Knight ground out, his breathing obstructed even through his Kevlar suit. The Joker threw his weight back again and Batman's hand shot up gripping the man's grungy green hair. The Joker let out a cry of pain as the vigilante got a fist full of it yanking the maniac violently over his shoulder. The Clown fell awkwardly into the water, splashing more grunge onto his clothing, drenching anything below his abdomen, one hand grabbing the rusted pipes the only thing saving him from plunging in entirely. Batman lifted him by his hair from the water, slamming his smaller form against the moss covered walls, the pipes digging into the madman's back. 

The Dark Knight slammed a fist into the bricks beside the Joker's head, easily denting the wall, sending flecks of rock into the water, some landing on the maniac's shoulder, catching in his hair. Pale hands reached up, grasping at his own gloved one. They clawed desperately to remove his grip, the madman still growling like a feral animal, easily reminding Bruce of the inmates he had met in the asylum earlier that night. Batman leaned in, a sneer on his face, getting into the Joker's personal space. The Joker paused, his eyes flashing sharply in warning. Then nails swiped at his face, clawed at his Kevlar, trying to reach any flesh they could. The Dark Knight slammed his body against the Joker's, turning the undamaged side of his face away from the madman, crushing the man's lungs, his breath leaving in a forced gasp. Batman let out his own growl and another gloved hand was shoved under the maniac's chin, returning the favor of a crushed wind pipe. The Joker painfully sucked in a breath, one arm pinned between them, the other clutching at his new grip, successfully subdued, for now, their faces merely inches apart. Bright absinthe green eyes pierced through dark stormy blue ones, easily seeing more then just color or emotions, the Joker's eyes always saw their souls.

“I know, what you want.” Batman growled out, his hand tightening on the man's throat, shifting a little higher, a little closer. The Joker's head tilted up in accommodation, his face entirely dead, his body limp against the wall, completely void of emotion. His eyes however, in the depths, still held a raging beast. 

“I know what your doing. I know...” Bruce trailed off not quite sure what he was going to say, what he could say, if he had anything to complete that sentence other than repeating himself. He broke eye contact looking down, admiring how his black gloved hand contrasted so completely with the Joker's skin. Why was this so difficult? Why out of all of the criminals in Gotham was the Joker still around? Still alive? Still wreaking havoc on the city? Why was he here? Why was he, here. Now. Of all times. 

“What I need.” The Joker whispered and Batman's head snapped up, their eyes locking again.

“What?” The Dark Knight asked confusion apparent in his eyes, his grip loosening.

“You know. What. I. Need.” The Joker said again leaning forward the small meters Bruce had let up, slowly this time, calmly, like he was talking a suicide bomber out of the job. It was true, and it was scary. The thought chilled Bruce to his bones, the fact that he knew crazy. The Joker scowled when he didn't say anything.

“I'm an addict Batsy. So sue me.” The maniac admitted with a hiss, pressing his own Adam's apple against Batman's enclosed hand, his nose close, almost brushing the cowl. Bruce searched those intelligently mad eyes for a moment, wondering how someone could be so insane, yet completely sane in the same moment. Finally the vigilante stepped away, freeing the Joker's body from the wall.

“I don't have time for this.” The Dark Knight grunted releasing the madman completely, he turned back towards their destination. The Joker let out a frustrated scream, tugging at his hair as Batman picked up the flashlight, it back forward to light up their path.

“Mark my words, Batsy Baby. I will kill. Every. Last. One of them.” The Joker promised darkly, slipping past Batman's unmoving body to slink ahead. The vigilante followed behind him, making the silent promise that he would try to stop ever single attempt the man made. They walked in silence again, this time tension hung between them, a vibrant knife's edge, waiting for the plunge into unsuspecting flesh. 

“It's here.” The Joker stated dully one finger pressing against the stones, he fixed Batman with a lazily cocked eyebrow. The vigilante's eyes narrowed at the brick wall, walking forward a few steps his broad form forcing the maniac out of the way, he knocked on the grimy stones, listening. The madman was right, there was something on the other side. Tapping a few more times, Bruce finally decided that his explosive gel could break through, all the while the Clown watched him intently, soaking in his every move. Bruce shifted uncomfortably under the madman's gaze, removing his gadget from his belt, he sprayed the wall with his signature bat.

“Awwww thats cute.” The Joker muttered with a pout, glowering like he wanted to be mad at the vigilante but couldn't quite keep it up, his hair mused from the man handling, his neck still red.

“Stand back.” The Dark Knight grunted and the Clown lifted his hands stepping away a few feet, Batman lifted his gadget pressing the detonation button. The sewer shook, bits of brick flying around, but the bulk of it fell into the tunnel beyond them, leaving dust to settle slowly to the ground. Batman watched the Joker turn his face away, holding his hands up to protect his face. Their eyes met just before he turned back to survey the damage.

“Well thats nifty.” The Joker stated, waltzing past Batman and into the tunnel. He stretched a little as he entered the larger space, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Welcome to the French tunnel of love! And by love I mean money smuggling.” The Joker exclaimed with a snicker. The tunnel was definitely bigger then the sewer they arrived by. The best part, there was no foul smelling sewage they needed to tramp through. Not that the damage hadn't already been done to his suit. Batman could still smell it as they made their way into the empty tunnel. Looking back into the darkness of the new tunnel he wondered were it lead to. This was definitely something he was going to look into when this whole situation was dealt with. A running rail track was laid into the ground, the walls a fresher red brick then the sewers. Batman switched off his flashlight as The Joker's skipping form activated the lights.

“Come on tough guy. Apparently your late for a date!” The Joker chuckled darkly, gesturing him along towards the door a several yards down, crates littering the way a lone cart attached to the tracks.

“It's not a date.” Batman muttered, stalking past the Joker to peer into the empty cart. The Joker stopped turning around to pout at him.

“Is that what you always say when you're off to meet me?” The madman huffed, kicking said cart in annoyance. Batman glared at him as he walked around the other side of the cart, their connected wrists being forced over the top.

“I'm hurt Bats.” He stated halting in his steps, to glare at the vigilante, he slumped down onto the edge of the cart, his head resting on his free hand. Bruce clenched his jaw in irritation, walking the rest of the way around the cart, half tempted to start another tug-a-war with the maniac if he didn't come along. The caped crusader turned a little giving the Joker a once over, taking in his shabby appearance, his scratched up arms and bruised skin. Mussed hair, and pale complexion showing off just how much blood he really had on him.

“Yeah I saw.” The Dark Knight grunted walking forward again, remembering the litany of bruises on his stomach, tugging gently on the madman, who subconsciously stumbled around the cart, his face screwed up in confusion. 

“Wha – No, no, not those! They're just scratches. To be honest I forgot they were there.” The Joker chuckled and Batman sent him a scathing gaze as they approached the metal door, crates shoved up to the wall on one side. He could still feel his own ribs throbbing and they weren't even close to being as bruised as the Joker's were.

“I mean come on! You know I'm tougher then that! You should have seen me after you – .” The vigilante pivoted quickly his cape snapping along with him, effectively cutting off the madman's words. He didn't want to hear what damage he's done. 

“Please. Stop talking.” Batman leveled the maniac with a steady glare. Turning back around at the Joker's raised eyebrow he tried the closed door. It was locked of course. Shifting he got a little lower slamming his shoulder into the metal. Still nothing. If this was a dead end... He tried again with the same result.

“You wanna know the definition of insanity?” The Joker asked with amusement and Batman glowered at him.

“Its locked.” The Dark Knight stated, both of the Joker's eyebrows rose, crossing his arms he sent Batman an scathingly amused look.

“Really?” He asked sarcastically, “I wasn't sure. I thought you just, liked, the feel of metal slamming into you.” The maniac chuckled leaning against the door, crossing his legs at the ankles, licking his lips. 

“I mean. That's why you do it to me, right? Foreplay and all that jazz?” The Joker smirked his eyes widening briefly to emphasize jazz, he lifted a finger, running it down the metal seductively his eyes never leaving the over grown Bat. Batman growled, slamming a fist against the closed door, only inches from madman's head.

“Will. You. Stop. Already? We're stuck together for the night. No need to make it any more unpleasant, then it already is.” Batman ground out shoving himself away from the door, the maniac's eyes trailed along after him a frown on his face.

“Says you.” The Clown pouted grumpily, pushing away from the door as well, glaring at the vigilante as the Bat took a few more steps back the way they came, the cuffs tugging on their wrists when the Joker didn't follow. Blue eyes narrowed in on their entry point, and the Joker's head jerked around, eyebrow raised as he saw it as well.

“We'll go through the vent.” Batman grunted pushing the madman out of the way as he moved forward again. He immediately stalked to a stack of crates, the Joker trailing along like a reluctant puppy, only moving when the cuffs required it. 

“Oh! Sounds like an adventure!” The Dark Knight bent down, pulling the Joker with him to shove the stacked crates over, his bruised ribs and injured leg protesting angrily with the movement. Batman refused to show the pain though, swiftly pushing the boxes underneath the grate. He climbed onto the crates quickly, ripping the bars off of the opening with one hand, the other still connected to the madman's who stood below him with an unamused gaze, then his eyes lit up, a smile gracing his lips.

“You go first. I wouldn't mind some alone time with that – .” The Joker started standing a little behind the vigilante gazing at his ass, the cape fallen to the side. Batman dropped back down, his teeth gritted, jaw muscles tense. He turned on the maniac, grabbing the Joker by the shirt and hoisting him off the ground.

“Shut. Up. And get in there.” Batman growled shoving him towards the boxes, the maniac slammed into them with open palms.

“Alright. Alright. Bossy. Bossy.” The clown huffed scampering onto the crates, Batman's hand being pulled up after him. 

“I'm going! You see me going? How you like the view?” The Joker asked as he reached the top, his torso bent over the corner, glancing smugly down at the Dark Knight.

“Just move.” Batman ground out, his eyes narrowing up at the madman. 

“You know. When you talk like that – .” The maniac started, resting his elbow on the crates, his head in on his hand, watching Batman's muscles flex in irritation.

“Joker.” The vigilante growled in warning, stepping up onto the first crate. The Joker rolled his eyes dramatically with a sigh, crawling the rest of the way onto the crates and into the .

“Right, right. Crawling. Just how you like it.” The Joker growled out creeping slowly through the vent.

“I'm serious.” Batman almost sighed, hefting himself up onto the boxes as well. The Joker huffed in amusement, rolling his eyes.

“You're always serious love. Why so serious?” He drawled out, reminding the caped crusader of darker times. 

“I mean really! Am I not enough clown for you?” The madman asked turning his head awkwardly to look back at the Dark Knight who was finally on top of the crates, his angry face just behind the clown.

“I hate clowns.” The vigilante hissed, he wanted to shove the madman forward, but didn't want to touch the maniac's ass, he knew just how much the deranged man would enjoy that.

“Again. Ouch.” The Joker stated, turning back around. They crawled awkwardly for a few more seconds, the maniac tugging at Bruce's hand every time he moved. They come to a turn that lead steadily upwards. The first grate they came to was blocked off by boxes, and Batman didn't want to chance busting in on a group of armed guards, not with the Joker attached to him. 

“How long are we going to crawl through this stuff?! Spiders aren't my favorite. And unlike you! I don't have a handy suit.” The Joker finally complained as they reached a split in the vents, stopping to swat some webs out of his face. A tiny spider scuttled over his hand and the Joker panicked, slamming it against the vent wall, the sound echoing down the small path.

“Left. You'll get over it.” Batman replied, it was true though, he didn't notice little things like spiders, webs, snow or light rain. The Joker shuffled in the vent enough to turn his head, licking his lips he glanced back giving the vigilante a dry incredulous stare. He clicked his tongue and turned ahead when Batman simply gazed back blankly.

“If I get bit. By a black widow. I'm coming. Back. To haunt you.” The Joker warned crawling forward again. Batman shook his head, glad that for once the madman's haunting eyes weren't on him.

“Don't you always?” The Dark Knight muttered, inspecting the tiny insects he passed, just in case.

“Oooh, clever.” The maniac giggled, his voice echoing through the vents, his ragged clothing jostling with his laughter.

“You know what's not clever?” Batman scoffed, crushing a little bug under his glove as he crawled behind the man.

“What?” The madman asked excitedly, stopping in his movement through the vent. Wait was that a black widow?

“Your face.” The vigilante replied off handedly crushing a little black spider, then he realized what he had said and who he had said it to, he slowly tore his eyes from the dead insect as the madman stopped ahead of him.

“Really?” The Joker asked turning back once more, his brows furrowed in anger. Bruce hadn't really thought that statement through, but he wasn't taking it back.

“Not. Clever.” He growled out incredulous when Batman's face didn't change, but he didn't want to deal with a sour maniac for the rest of the night.

“I enjoy disappointing you.” The Dark Knight smirked swatting the madman's shoes, urging him to move on, hoping to distract the man.

“Everyone you mean?” The Joker smirked back sardonically, turning back to the task at hand. Bruce gritted his teeth at the jab, trying to ignore the pangs of regret his words brought up. The Joker chuckled darkly as they moved on, the uneasy quiet settling back over them.

“Quietly.” Batman ground out as they neared an open grate, this one should be on the second floor at least. The vigilante tried to lean to the side, attempting to see past the Joker's thin frame. His broad shoulders didn't allow for much leeway however, a few inches at most.

“What do you see?” The Dark Knight finally asked, gritting his teeth ready for the Joker's probably sarcastic reply.

“Nothing.” The madman said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders in boredom.

“Joker.” Batman growled leaning forward in the grate, ready to wrestle the maniac out of the way.

“What? Hey!” The Joker exclaimed when the Bat started man handling his feet. The vigilante tore him backwards, his back sliding across the vent, his shirt riding up.

“I see an empty. Balcony. Overlooking some offices.” The Joker ground out as Batman shimmied over him, just enough to see out the grate, not that the clown was complaining. The Dark Knight took a second to survey the area, one hand resting on the madman's hips for support as he peered out, finally backing up when the madman started squirming underneath him, making playful noises and tugging at his cape.

“The C.E.O.'s office should be beneath us.” The Caped Crusader stated resting a fist against the vent, still hovering over the madman. Swatting one of the Joker's hands away from him he stared expectantly at the maniac who simply stared back at him, still laid out on the vent beneath him.

“What are you waiting for?” Batman grunted, his lips tightening in annoyance.

“What? Wait.” The Joker tilted his head back to stare at the grate before leveling it back onto the vigilante. 

“What am, I? Waiting for?! What do I look like, Tarzan?!” The Joker asked raising his hands in the air. Batman replied with a dry glower and the madman huffed in surrender, scrambling back around he took a crack at the grate, placing a muck covered shoe against the bars. It creaked under the pressure of his boots, but the man slid backwards. Batman moved forward letting the madman's back rest against his chest giving him the leverage he needed. Then it clattered to the ground painfully loud, the grate falling over the edge of the balcony, the railing completely missing.

“Oh look, maybe I am.” The Joker laughed, the grate skittered across the ground below, a small beeping noise starting up.

“Quie – .” Batman tried, as the Joker jumped out of the vent and onto the floor, the cuffs pulling taunt on their wrists, Bruce refusing to give the menace any leeway. 

“Hello bank!” The madman called out, his free arm thrown out in joy, his cuffed hand stuck to the wall just under the vent.

“ – tly.” Bruce trailed off in irritation, then his arm snapped up to cover his eyes as the room exploded. Joker was slammed against the wall below the vent covering his own face. When the vigilante's ears finished ringing he crept to the edge of the vent peering down. The Joker grinned up at him, ash now littering his clothes, coughing pathetically he wiped debris off his face.

“I'm going to gag you.” Batman snarled down at the madman, who chuckled back at him with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Kinky.” The Joker smirked, chuckling, and Batman finally rolled his eyes, dropping to the floor silently.

“It wont be.” The Dark Knight stated dryly dropping to the floor quietly. The speakers over head crackled on, The Joker's voice booming through the room almost as loud as the bomb.

“What? What is tha – Bats?! What are you. Thats not fair! I set up so many presents for your way down from the roof! Meticulously planned out. So why?! do you always have to cheat?!”

“He has a point.” The real Joker muttered from his place on the floor, “It takes so much effort to – .”

“Shut up.” Batman grunted peering over the edge of the balcony to survey the room.

“That's alright! I've left you some more presents! These ones are just. Dying. For your attention! Careful though, they're excitement can be a bit. Explosive.” The speakers emitted a cackling laugh then cut off, leaving an eerie silence in its place. The ground was obviously rigged with proximity mines, but why? What was this Joker's game?

“Well. Go on Bats!” The maniac cried out from behind him, something pressed against the small of his back and suddenly he was air born. The Joker lowered his boot as Batman hit the ground painfully. His entire body tensed ready to escape from any mines, when nothing started beeping he pushed to his knees.

“JOKER!!” Batman roared flipping around to stare angrily up at the madman's smirking face. The Joker put his hands in his pockets, his eyes creasing in amusement. He rocked onto his tip toes before falling back and repeating the action.

“It's been fun B-baby.” The Joker stated bending over the edge to gaze down at the pissed off Bat. 

“Maybe next time we can keep it between just us. Yeah?” The Joker asked as he gestured between them, chuckling he pivoted merrily. 

“I'll catch ya around Batsy!” The clown called down to him waving a hand back at him in farewell as he waltzed away. The vent panging as the madman crawled back into it.

“Joker!” The Dark Knight shouted again, his hand instinctively going for his grappling gun, but it wasn't there. It was on the ground near the sewer entrance. Swearing Bruce surveyed his surroundings again easily spotting the mines. He'd have to deal with the escape artist later. Speaking of, he reached down easily tearing off the cuffs, no key needed. The room around him was a basic upscale office, the tile floor done in dark blue marble. The ceiling was a sky light, pots of plants sat merrily in the corners. Switching to heat sensors Batman realized that the random boxes he had seen placed through out the room actually contained people. They were missing the Joker's unusual flair however. Something that the original Joker would never forget, would never let slid. 

The proximity bomb Bruce had landed on was thankfully no longer active. The grate had set it off when that madman had kicked it off the edge. The area around the bomb was charred the offices closest to him a pile of rubble. This whole ordeal normally wouldn't have been that hard of a task, but his grappling hook was still laying on the pavement near the Bat mobile. This is why he should always pack replacements, but he had gotten cocky. They had never broken before, not for a long time at any rate, not since the upgrades. The walls dividing the offices were easily transversed, they looked sturdy enough to hold his weight, getting the hostages out however was going to be a different story. He still had the disarming gadget from Arkham City, but that only turned off two bombs at once and only for a limited amount of time. Bruce hoped this Joker wannabe was more patient then the real one, he had thought that too soon, the speakers crackling on.

“Awwww what's wrong Bats? I find it hard to believe this isn't something you can figure out. Oh, oh! I have an idea! How about you just leave them. Aaaand. Come see me instead?! What's a few lives in the long run anyway?! Come on Sweetheart! They aren't the only ones. Dying. To see you.” The fake clown chuckled darkly the speakers switching off. Bruce felt his energy sap away a little, the last thing he wanted to do today was see another scarred grinning face. Except in the end, the absolute last thing he, needed, to see; was more dead bodies. Holding back a deep sigh Batman stood up from his crouched position. The offices closest to him were a disaster thanks to the explosion. Luckily none of the maniac's “presents” were near the damage. Listening carefully he crept forward and over the debris, easily keeping his balance on the shifting rubble. Batman hefted himself onto the the remaining wall, still connected to the rest of the room's offices. In the office over a beeping started, slow and steady. The vigilante crept forward slowly paying close attention to the speed of the beeps. He crept to the first stall holding a box, and took a deep irritated breath, a blinking light sat on top of the box, accompanied by the slow beeping. The speakers crackled on.

“Oh look! It's happy to see you! Give it up Sweetheart, they're a lost cause. Just come play with me!” The man whined sounding eerily close to the original, but the tone was off, higher pitch. Bruce wouldn't of noticed before, but he had spent enough time with the real Prince of Crime that night to know the difference. Batman disarmed the bomb with his gadget, examining the box throughly before ripping it open. A woman lay inside completely knocked out, breathing deeply, her blonde hair sticking wildly to the sides of the box. Bruce reached in gently pulling the woman out and tossing her light frame over his shoulder. His leg bit at him painfully, his abs tensing to balance out the added weight, his muscles pressing against the bruised ribs. Any other night he could easily carry two bodies. Any other night he wouldn't have to. Tonight just wasn't his fucking night.

Bruce was on the second hostage when the speakers crackled on once more, and this time, they didn't turn off, and The Joker was right. They did sound like broken records, that never shut up.

“Bats! Seriously! What?! Is taking so long? Are they as heavy as they look? I wouldn't know. If they caused me that much, trouble I'd normally just. You know.” The Joker trailed off with a dark chuckle.

“Bang!” 

“Just kidding.”

“Hey Bats? How many pedestrians does it take to stop a train?”

“You're right, I don't know either. We should find out some time! Just drop them out there, we'll start with one. But we both know that wont work, right sweetheart. Then we can try two! Boom. Splat! Probably wont do much, I mean really. Its a train. Three? All at once. Just one big mess. Four...”

“I think around twenty we might start slowing it down, what do you think sweetheart? It'd be like a pile of flesh, right? Unless we dropped them off. One. By. One. We could just line them up! Oh, wait wait! I want to conduct the train! That would be a riot! One splat after another. Twenty one would just be another blip in the ride, right? Twenty two...” 

“Eighty nine. Definitely some more impact then eighty eight. I mean we're one closer to ninety. You think they'd scream?” Batman had finally hefted the last victim onto the platform. Following the fat man's smelly body off the bomb littered floor below. Bruce stalked past the man's wide girth opening the door to the C.E.O.'s office. Turning back around he glared at the obese man before moving towards him, placing black gloved hands under the male's sweaty arm pits, he got low using his leg muscles to pull the man slowly back into the room. He let out a relived sigh dropping the large male to the floor, not really caring how hard his head hit the carpet. He glided past not giving the room, or its unconscious occupants, a second glance slamming the door closed behind him. He was definitely tired of this night.

“Ninety – oh! Are we done now? What do you think sweetheart? You think ninety eight would stop a train? Thats the number we reached, right? I'ma try it some time! It'll be our special number. Speaking of numbers! I'm counting some in the vault right now, why don't you come stop by! I've been dying to see you!” The Joker squealed happily, the speakers finally shutting off. Quiet reigned over the room and Bruce took a steadying breath, enjoying the moment. The speaker crackled on again.

“Seriously sweetheart. I know you don't care about them, but... Minions are people too.” A gun shoot echoed through the room, warped by the speakers. Bruce gritted his teeth in anger, pushing off of the balcony and gliding to the office cubicle walls.

“Now that's what I thought. I'd say one for every minute you make me wait, but I'm a little short handed today, so let's say you have, hmm, five minutes. Four. Three? Lets do three. See ya soon Bats.” The Fake insisted cutting out again with a fit of giggles. Batman rushed across the cubicles, gliding right up to the door out. He slipped through, easily taking out the three men guarding the main entry way within six seconds. He rushed across the bank's empty foyer, hoping the fancy counters he slid to the floor rushing into the next room, the bank vault stood open light streaming from inside. Batman slowed down, stalking farther into the room, passing the edge of the vault, bringing its insides into view. The copy cat Joker stood at the back of the Vault a gun pressed to a civilian's head, his back to the vigilante. Batman raised his hands in surrender walking slowly into the room. The metal sorting table, situated in the middle, the only thing separating him from the madman. Money lay around in heaps, littering the floor, several safety deposit boxes torn open. A bullet hole dented one of the boxes, but there was no dead body on the floor.

“Shh shh sh sh sh shhhh. Quiet darling he'll be here any second. I don't want you whimpering through our little chat, its annoying. How abo – wah, wait. He's – .” The Fake Joker, dressed in similar fashion to the original, almost down to the cuff links, flipped around suddenly his grip shifting in the woman's dark hair. Frail feminine hands clawed at his purple gloved ones, her eyes met Batman's in terror, her make-up smeared down her face. The Joker tightened his fingers yanking her farther off the ground as his eyes met Batman's.

“Hey there sweetheart! Took you long enough! I was actually starting to worry the cops would show up sooner then you did!” The madman laughed still gesturing with his hands, despite having a solid grip on the woman's hair, tugging her with him as he moved, a gun solidly held in his other hand. He gestured that one loosely around the place, aiming at everyone and every thing absentmindedly. 

“The games over Joker, give it up.” The Fake Joker looked around in confusion, his scarred lips pursed. Then he tapped the woman on the head with the gun clicking his tongue.

“Not quite Batsy.” The Joker giggled smoothing the woman's hair out of her frightened face with the tip of the gun. Batman fingered his remote batarang, but stopped, curiosity winning him over.

“What's the point, Joker? What's the point of all of this? What's your end game?” He asked deeply, creeping a few more steps closer. The Fake Joker laughed shaking his head, but the laughter died out, his body tensing, jaw clenched and his brows creased, scratching his own head with the tip of the gun. Then he tipped it at the vigilante, shaking the barrel it at him with a tight smile.

“You Bats. Its always you. I just see you.” The maniac scowled, the woman whimpered and the gloved hand reigned her closer to him, the gun returning to its place on the woman's skull. Batman simply nodded his head, stepping forward again, now in dashing range of the maniac.

“Then you can have me. Let her go. We'll switch. Me for her.” The Joker's lips twitched, his eyes narrowing, a small biting laugh cutting through.

“I don't believe you, sweetheart. Not with that fancy belt of gags you carry around.” They stared each other down for several seconds. Batman was the first to move voluntarily, his hands slowly reaching up for his belt. It didn't matter what kind of maniac this guy was, he was a better match against a gun any time he was suited up, that woman didn't stand a chance. 

“Alright deal.” Batman grunted, he unbuckled his belt, reluctantly tossing it out of the vault, batarang still in hand. 

“No gags. On either side.” Batman growled, his hands resting by his sides. The maniac cocked his head to the side, staring for several seconds, sizing him up. Then he tore the woman up from the ground almost holding her solely by her hair, her cry of pain echoing through the vault. 

“Guess you're saved sweetheart.” The madman hissed at the woman, his lips close enough to leave smudges of red lipstick on her checks. He let her hair go and she fell to the ground, her arms slapping against the floor. She scrambled up ready to dash out of the room, and the Joker tutted, pressing the gun against the back of her head, stopping her immediately.

“Not quite. Slowly, doll, slowly.” The madman grinned his unarmed hand shot out a finger pointing towards Batman.

“And you. You stay right. Where you are.” The Fake Joker suggested, watching the woman walk slowly to the exit. The gun was immediately trained on Batman when the woman cleared the edge of the vault, her high heels clicking across the tile as she ran.

“Well you've got me.” Batman grunted taking another step forward, the maniac jerked back, an unfamiliar flash of fear in his eyes.

“What now, Joker? What is this really all about. What is it, that you want?” Batman asked slowly taking a step forward, making sure his shift in weight went unnoticed this time. The real Joker never had reason, he didn't need it. Didn't need people to see why he did things, because he didn't care about people. Didn't want to connect with them. This wasn't the Joker however, and Bruce wanted to see what their driving force was. It was close to the real madman of course, Batman had always played a part in his twisted games, but no one could match that madness.

“Really? I mean. It has always been about you!” The Joker said waving the gun around hazardously. The Fake was wrong, it hadn't always been about him. The real madman had always invited him to play, but he always had an end game, a favorable outcome to his crimes. Favorable for the Joker of course. 

“What about me?” Batman pressed, wondering how far the madness stretched in these, clones or whatever.

“What about you?” The Fake replied with a sneer, glancing around the now empty room, his lips pursed as if he wasn't quite sure where to go from here. Then a light sparked in his eyes.

“Oh. I remember.” The gun leveled on Bruce's face, the one open area on his entire suit. Batman lunged forward taking the bullet to the shoulder, his Kevlar suit easily stopping the bullet, but his skin would still be painfully bruised in the morning. He slammed into the madman, his hand tightening painfully on his armed wrist forcing the muscles to spasm releasing the gun. He immediately kicked the weapon under the steel table, while blocking the Fake Joker's right hook. He went in for another punch but the madman jumped him, latching his arms around the Dark Knight's neck pulling him in close. Batman's hand fisted green hair, tearing the man's head backwards, noticing that his Adams apple wasn't as pronounced as the real one's. He also noticed the small surgical lines underneath his jaw, Bruce's eyes widened. 

“Ah ah ah. Batsy.” The madman reached down with a free hand, ripping open his vest. Batman's jaw clenched at the bombs laced around the maniac's torso. The purple glove came back with a remote control, a satisfied smile on his painted scarred lips.

“I hear you're tired of our games. Well I'm tired of seeing you. Every. Time. I close my eyes. So let's make a deal. Let's both go out w – .” Batman didn't let him finish, slamming a fist into his Adams apple while breaking his thumb. He swiftly divested the madman of the detonator, chucking it across the table. The Fake Joker snarled punching Batman in the face, and leapt off him to scramble over the metal. The Dark Knight wasted no time latching onto the man's pristine boots and pulling him back across the table. The maniac's nails scraped across the surface as he lost ground in reaching his goal, flipping over instead, he tried to kick the vigilante in the face. Batman dodged the blow, using the Joker's momentary downed position to dash around the side of the table, ready to remove that detonator from the room, the area, completely. He was swooping down to get it when the Fake Joker jumped on his back, slamming them both into the lockers. One of the open doors jammed painfully into Bruce's already bruised ribs and he hissed in pain. The madman slipped off of him, and Batman turned just in time to see the maniac pluck the control off the floor with his uninjured hand. The Dark Knight froze watching the sadistic grin spread across the familiar dolled up scarred face. 

“See you in hell Bats.” The Fake Joker giggled darkly his thumb coming down on the detonator. Batman was already moving, he rolled to the side and out of the vault. Flipping around he placed both hands on the vault door, using all of his strength he made a last ditched effort to close it, falling sideways as it left his palms. The blast blew the door open, the metal hitting Bruce hard in the upper torso, he flew across the room, his back slamming through a decorative glass wall and sliding across the ground, glass grinding into his muscles through the Kevlar. Heat blasted out of the vault, his vision spotted with dancing lights, consumed by flames money fluttered to the floor in burning ashes. His entire body felt numb, his ears ringing painfully. The light died away and with it his vision, slowly darkness crept up on him. He tried to move, the ringing dying out to silence, his hand slapped against the glass, but made no sound. More glass shattered against the ground, raining to the floor just out of his reach. He spotted his belt several feet away in the cascade of sparkling shards. Two boots landed gracefully near the belt, a gloved hand reaching down plucked it from it's glittering grave. Bruce willed his eyes higher, but the darkness had other plans, drowning out his sight completely, until there was only darkness.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Cliff hanger?! Kinda. Lol. The usual Jazz. Blah blah. I'ma sleep now.


	7. This Side of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Batman wakes up, nothing is how it should be.

Another long ass Chapter. I'm pretty damn sure I've got everything in this that I missed in previous chapters. I might go back and give hints. But meh who knows.

Shattered Identities

Chapter 7

This Side of Life

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

The sound was constant, a steady rhythm in his mind, pulling at him. Until it was something he couldn't ignore any longer. It was a high pitched noise he couldn't brush off, it moved with him, through him. His lower body was cold, his breathing painful, each lungful of air sent searing fire through his chest. He could hear that beeping, over and over, steadily, yet sometimes it sped up, like now as he tried to open his eyes. They felt heavy, leaden down, his eyelashes glued together. It took a few tries, fighting against the onslaught of weakness before his lashes fluttered open. Light stabbed at his irises and he jerked his head away, his neck muscles protesting angrily at the movement. He blinked several times, the world a wash of blurred white, steel, and one green glare. Bruce realized what that beeping was just before it all came into focus. It was his heart rate. The room became crisp and he was surrounded by white. The walls, ceiling, equipment, and sheets all a pristine white, accentuated by metal bindings, bolts and bars.

Several machines sat around him, one angled towards him, glaring green, the steady rate of his heartbeat echoing through the room, the little green line dashing across the surface over and over again. He was in the mansion's basement emergency room, he knew because he had hand picked all of the equipment. His heartbeat slowed a little at that fact, not that he was entirely pleased with it, but it could be worse. He must have a fractured rib, if the pain in each breath was anything to go by. His right arm was bandaged, he wriggled his fingers with little discomfort. Bending his elbow he was met with the same, sore muscles, but nothing too long lasting. He had a nasty bruise on his left arm, probably from where the vault door had slammed into it. That was the likely culprit for his fractured rib as well, maybe even a concussion, Kevlar could only stop so much.

In the end it beat being caught in the full blast of the explosion. Shuffling his foot out of the blanket draped over him, his ankle was wrapped up as well, looking pretty swollen and his bullet wounds throbbed without him needing to check them. He probably tore his leg wound open, which meant it would take a few more months to heal. He could live with that. Bruce ignored the pain in his torso, carefully sitting up, the blanket that had been covering his chest slipped down to his waist revealing his shirtless chest. His ribs were bandaged tight, restricting his movement. The rest of his skin looked just as bad as the Joker's had in the car. Speaking of the Joker. Bruce had a job to do. He ripped off the heart monitor dropping it to the floor, the machine zeroed out in an annoying high pitched tone. He was just tearing out the I.V.'s in his arms when the door slammed open rather forcefully. Tim walked in, his features marred in an irritated scowl of disappointment and concern.

“You are not getting out of that bed.” Tim commanded going as far as attempting to man handle Gotham's top crime fighter. The teen swiftly closed the distance between them, placing his hands firmly on Bruce's solid shoulders, pressing him back down as hard as he could. Which was actually pretty powerful considering how often the kid worked out. The Detective fell back a few inches from the pressure, pain shooting through his ribs and abs as he resisted the push. Now equally irritated Bruce slammed Tim's arm with his fore arm, knocking the kids hands off his shoulder, he flipped his hand, latching onto the kid's wrist, twisting the teen's arm around and behind Tim's back in one fluid motion. The kid let out a hiss of pain. Knowing Tim could easily get out of the hold, he tossed the teen away from him. His younger partner stumbled, knocking into some medical equipment and the tool tray, plastic covered syringes and a pair of blue gloves clattered to floor. Tim quickly found his footing and straightened the tray before anything more could fall off. His short hair cascading into his face as he froze once the task was done, his muscles tense, his eyes hidden behind shadow. He stood there for a few seconds, unmoving, his jaw muscles flexing, his body tense. He released the tray, straightening up, letting his hands fall to his sides, turning slowly to face Bruce. His baby blue eyes peaking out from under his dark strands, leveling his mentor with a stern, hurt look.

“I know you don't like sitting around,” Tim whispered his eyes glassing over, and he gritted his teeth. He stepped forward one hand reaching up to clench the bars surrounding Bruce's bed, his knuckles white from the pressure.

“You always talk about how you don't want to lose us. How you don't want another Jason. Not that, I mean...” The teen let out a frustrated sigh, turning his attention to the floor he took a deep breath, leveling his eyes on his mentor again.

“Look, I never met him, but I'm sure losing him hurt. Just as much. As losing you would. So stay in the fucking bed.” Tim demanded pushing away from the bed, intending to make a quick exit. Bruce's hand shot out, grabbing his partner's wrist before he could get away.

“Tim...” Bruce trailed off unsure how to word what he wanted to say.

“Don't curse, it doesn't suit you.” He said half-assed, unable to say what he really wanted. That he understood the kid's concerns, what he was saying, how he felt. Tim sighed with a small huff of irritated amusement, a bitter smile pulling at his lips he shook his head at his mentor's stubbornness, his eyes back on the ground. Almost wishing when he looked back it would be different, Bruce would actually open up, be able to say something. Anything.

“Yeah? Don't make me curse, and we won't have to worry about it.” Tim replied, his eyes back on the billionaire's, slipping his hand from the man's grasp he folded his arms in defiance. Bruce let a little smile tug at his lips and he reached over, sliding the safety bar down so he could slip off the bed.

“Guess I'll have to start worrying.” Bruce shot back throwing his legs over the edge, ignoring the pain that shot through his body with every move.

“Seriously Bruce, just once. Can you not be a stubborn jerk?” The teen asked a frown marring his youthful features, refusing to move out of the man's way. Bruce didn't answer him, pushing to his feet, letting the blanket fall to the floor where it pooled on his bare toes which immediately cooled against the tile floor. Tim's bulky frame still blocked his way, not willing to budge an inch. Bruce took in Tim's angry stare, but he could see the worry hidden in the emotion. Teacher and student. It seemed the kid took more from him than just crime fighting. One of his hands covered his aching ribs, while the other rested on the teen's tense shoulder. Tim's eyes narrowed at the action, immediately suspicious.

“It's been a long night. I'm going to go upstairs, shower, and get some sleep. Sound alright with you doctor?” Bruce asked teasingly giving the kid's shoulder a squeeze. Tim didn't seem phased, still not budging from his spot in front of the man, his eyes however seemed fixed on the bruises littering the elder man's chest.

“No news, no radio, nothing, straight to your room?” Tim demanded unable to hold back his tinge of hope that the man would actually comply. The billionaire would love to accept but he needed to know a few things first.

“What happened to the hostages?” Bruce needed to know before he could make any promises to the teen.

“They're safe. The police found them. Nice work.” His partner replied sounding unhappy with Bruce's curiosity.

“The Joker?” He added and the teen shook his head.

“No sign.” Bruce nodded in agreement, letting his hand fall from the teen's well toned shoulder.

“Fine. I promise, no television, no radio, just a shower, and sleep.” They stared each other down for a full minute, baby blue eyes drilling into stormy blue. Finally Tim shifted out of the way, scooting the medical tray away from them. Bruce nodded his head in appreciation, making his way across the cold ground and out the open door, he stopped for a second just outside the door, turning his attention back to the teen.

“Just for tonight.” He tacked on with a small smirk, continuing forward, “Tomorrow night we're back on the streets.”

“Of course.” Tim seethed his eyes narrowing in disappointment again, making his way out of the room as well, his boots making a distinct noise against the carpeted hall. Bruce let himself chuckle a little at the kid's grumpiness. Alfred turned the corner, their eyes met, and the billionaire knew he was in for a fight. He was seriously too tired for this.

“Oh dear.” Alfred breathed, stalking purposefully towards the secret vigilante.

“Alfred I'm fine.” Bruce stated dodging as best as he could out of the man's inquisitive hands.

“No you're not fine. When Tim brought you in you were a wreck. A fractured rib, bruises everywhere. You shouldn't even be walking on that ankle of yours. I understand I might not have raised you as I should have Master Bruce, but I am not going to – .”

“Alfred.”

“ – sit here and let you make a mess of yourself simply because you are a stubborn man child.”

“Alfred.”

“You're welcome by the way.” Tim added in when his name was mentioned, walking leisurely past the pair, just as fed up with Bruce's stubbornness as Alfred was. The billionaire ground his teeth in irritation, the lack of sleep getting to his nerves faster than normal.

“You weren't supposed to be there, in the first place.” Bruce snapped unnecessarily, his body sending waves of pain at him, every ache in his body adding to his annoyance.

“Yeah?! Well next time I'll just hang around outside, watch you pass out and get dragged away by the police! To be strung up as some poor little orphan boy gone crazy, revenging his parents by playing Bat in a stupid suit! A little you're welcome isn't that hard!” The teen exclaimed rounding back on his mentor, swiftly closing the distance between the them. He stopped just in front of him, his shoulders squared, his feet apart ready for this fight.

“Watch it, Robin. Or do you not follow me around willingly, fighting by this old man, dressed up in a Bat suit?” Bruce hissed back quietly using his height to tower over the kid despite his injuries.

“Boys.” Alfred said dryly, this was not his intention when confronting his old charge, why was everyone in this house such a loose cannon these days?

“No! I don't!” Tim shouted throwing his arms out in exasperation, before poking a strong finger into Bruce's bruised chest, “Because you won't let me follow you anywhere!” The billionaire swatted the hand away, irritated that the poke had even hurt.

“Well in that case, maybe we should make you a puppy suit.” Bruce growled out darkly, “you can be Golden Retriever Boy, Batman's best bud.” Tim scoffed scowling up at the secret vigilante.

“Yeah! Sounds like a great idea. Maybe I could finally back you up for once!” Tim hissed, taking a step forward getting into Bruce's personal space.

“BOYS!” Alfred exclaimed, demanding their attention. Bruce backed down, one hand subconsciously holding his ribs as he relaxed his spine. The Detective was mad, but it wasn't at Robin. It was at whoever was causing this chaos, it was the Joker who had gotten away yet again. It was not being able to save the two sobs forced into the Joker's madness. Tim pivoted while Bruce realized this, immediately stalking away, his body tense, not throwing his mentor a second glance.

“Tim.” Bruce called after him softly, his voice barely carrying down the hall. Tim's shoulder's tensed farther, his hands clenching into fists.

“Tim! Robin!” Bruce tried again, louder this time, taking a few painful steps towards the kid. Tim lifted one hand, flipping his mentor off just as he turned the next corner. Bruce sighed tiredly, unwilling to meet Alfred's disappointed gaze.

“Reminds me of you sir.” The old man muttered, turning to staring after the boy.

“I like to think I had more manners.” Gotham's richest orphan grunted back, starting up the painful limping journey to his room.

“You can think that, but you, still don't.” Alfred replied with a bit of amusement, trying to lighten the mood.

“Thanks.” Bruce replied dryly, noticing his father figure walking along with him. “Look I'm not going anywhere tonight. I'm fine.”

“You're never fine Master Bruce.” Alfred stated, just as uneasy with the purple bruises blooming across his old charge's chest as Tim had been. Bruce followed his gaze to his own muscled chest, taking in the purple splotches. They were pretty bad, maybe even worse than the Joker's. Speaking of the Joker, he had his work cut out for him tomorrow.

“We're not doing this tonight.” The billionaire stated tiredly, limping farther down the hall, the elevator just around the corner. Alfred let out a dramatic sigh, watching the man hobble down the hall, trying to look prideful, while really just looking pitiful.

“At least, allow me to check your bullet wound?” Alfred tried hopelessly, not even bothering to follow Bruce down the hallway, already knowing the answer.

“I've got it. Goodnight Alfred.” Bruce called back to him with a small wave of a hand, turning the corner just as Alfred replied.

“Goodnight Master Bruce.” Alfred called back to him, already making his own way to the now empty room, getting it ready for the next time Bruce visited it. As the playboy waited for the elevator to come back down, he realized that he was actually pretty lucky Robin was the one that found him and before the police got in.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The knocks were steady and forceful, rattling Tim's door. The teen had half a mind to leave the man out there, but couldn't quite do it after imagining his mentor standing pitifully in the cold corridors of the mansion, his injuries wearing him down every second. He kicked his covers off, padding quietly to the door. He cracked it open, staring out at his pale adoptive father who was looking anywhere but at him. They stood in silence for a little bit longer and Tim was ready to shut the door and actually get some sleep.

“Tim.” Bruce tried, unsure what he could really say, I'm sorry? I'm sorry never really meant anything, not to him. He couldn't see how it could help anyone else. All he had ever heard when his parents had died was I'm sorry. The statement was always dry, empty. It didn't mean anything. So what do you say? What else could be said? Besides those empty words. Tim sighed letting his head rest against the ornate door frame.

“Look I get it.” Tim stated stepping back to close the door, Bruce stopped him with a powerful hand on the wood forcing the door back open.

“It's. Not healthy to go to sleep angry.” The billionaire stated awkwardly, meeting baby blue eyes. Tim's lips curled into a smile and he licked his lips slowly letting the hilarity of the situation wash over him.

“Apology accepted.” Tim stated, pulling the door closed again, Bruce's eyes widened his hand slipping away from the door, not wanting another injury that night. The teen paused the door almost closed, and he turned back, opening it up again, he gazed up at his adoptive father in silence for a few seconds, reading his stormy blue eyes.

“And... I love you too.” The teen turned away and the door shut with a final click. Bruce stared at the wood grains for a few shocked seconds, before he sighed, letting his head rest against the closed door. He was a terrible father. Adoptive or not. He didn't understand why he kept trying. Dick, Todd, Tim. They could have had real homes. He could have made sure they went to good families. Checked in on them, watched their healthy progress into adults. How was he supposed to raise children when he had never had parents, could barely remember their faces. Alfred was a father figure, yes, but had never been a father. He was always Master Bruce. His word, money, decisions, choices, they were always final. Maybe if he had let them go, hadn't thought it was a better life for them, hadn't let them decide for themselves that this was the life –

“Bruce! Go to bed! Now.” Tim's voice demanded through the door with exasperation, the light in his room clicking off. The billionaire smiled, pushing away from the door. Tim was probably more adult then he was to be honest. It didn't matter. Dick and Todd were in the past. Dick had turned out perfectly fine, a little on the vigilante side, but he's a good guy and Tim is an amazing kid, brilliant enough to maybe out rival him one day. Not only that but Tim had chosen this, chased it. So, Bruce was a shit father, yet, Tim complained more about him being a shit partner. He supposed he should tell the boy it wasn't his fault he didn't trust him, was afraid to unleash him completely, then again the kid probably already knew the reason and it act still pissed him off.

“Night Tim.” Bruce called through the door, ready to hobble his way to his room.

“Night Bruce. You know it's almost daylight right?” Tim shot back, the edges of sleep already audible in his voice. Bruce stood by the door a few seconds longer, he needed to say it, he should say it. He needed to hear it. He couldn't keep disappointing the kid, it was something so simple.

“Thank you.” Bruce stated, barely above a whisper, but the house was quiet and he heard a shifting from inside the room. It took a full minute but he finally got a reply.

“Thank you.” Echoed back to him from inside the door, barely audible but he still heard it. Smiling Bruce pushed away from the door. There, that wasn't that hard was it?

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Bruce didn't bother turning on the light as he entered his enormous bedroom, treading the well known path to the bathroom. Into the room and around the coffee table, he slipped inside, finally flipping on a light switch. He shuffled over the freezing tiles, stopping in front of the full length mirror. He took in his mused, sweat greased hair. His unusually pale skin, probably from the pain he was feeling, since he hadn't lost much blood. He turned his head taking in the scratches that ran along the left side of his face. He leaned in closer to the mirror noticing that Alfred had reapplied disinfectant to the cuts. He'd have to do that again when he got out of the shower, it looked like infection had already started taking a hold regardless of their efforts. He leaned away from the mirror, his body protesting painfully, then he leaned back in taking in the nasty bruise on the left side of his jaw, then he recalled the vault door hit that too.

He straightened up, it also his his left collarbone, shoulder, down his torso, and he shimmied his boxers off onto the floor, his left hip. All of which sported still blossoming bruises not even close to their healing stage. He reached up unwinding his fractured ribs with stifled grunts of pain. His ribs looked worse than the rest of his bruises which was saying something. He let the bandage pool on the floor, running a hand down his damaged muscles, wincing at the pain. At least his little Bruce escaped the vault door's wrath, hanging limply where it should be. The process of leaning into the mirror and back against had sent throbs of pain through his back, he wasn't sure what type of damage he had back there, but it was probably pretty bad. He had fallen almost two stories, and was also thrown across a glass covered floor by a vault door propelled by TNT. He turned around keeping his head on the mirror and there they were, bruises just like the rest of his body, light gouges where the glass had pressed into the Kevlar enough to damage the skin. Needless to say he looked like a train wreck, which meant he wouldn't be going on any playboy outings any time soon. It wasn't often things actually left marks on him he couldn't explain, but it seemed like the all day the hands of fate had been against him. Playing with him, like he hadn't already had a shitty month. Sighing Bruce unwrapped the rest of his wounds, the bullet grazes on his arm and leg, the full fledged hole in his thigh and his swollen ankle. The bandage on his arm revealed a slightly swollen wrist, and a few light bruises, the usual on any normal night. He took one last look at his well toned, bruised and battered body before he finally padded over to the large triple head shower. Turning the water on, he stepped into the heated water, thankful for the new installation of the latest top notch water system. He let the water run against his sore skin for a few minutes before the exhaustion of the day finally caught up with him. Sighing he reached for the shampoo.

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

The shower was shorter then he wanted it to be, but he wasn't sure he wanted to stay standing any longer then he had to. Stepping out he quickly dried off taking his time to disinfect and re-bandage his throbbing wounds, slipping on some boxers from one of the drawers. He didn't bother putting away the supplied as he tiredly stumbled out of the bathroom. Flipping the light off behind him, he didn't bother turning another one on as he made his way to the bed, easily avoiding the coffee table on his way, despite the lack of light. The curtains on his windows always closed when he left the room. Flopping onto his silky three thousand dollar comforter he sighed in relief, finally letting himself relax. He threw his hands out on either side of him, sighing again in relief, he tried to dredge up enough energy to get into the sheets. Then he noticed something, his heartbeat sped up, his eyes snapping open. He wasn't quite sure so he flexed his fingers, coming away with the same feel. Something thick and wet smeared the back of his hand. He flipped his palm down patting the comforter and was met with the same substance. Panicked, Bruce bolted up turning on the overhead lights to his bed. Then he froze, all of the breath leaving his lungs, unable to do anything more than stare in horror at the sight. Then he was out of the bed, dashing to the intercom that went throughout the house, shouting for Alfred.

“The medical room sir.” Was the man's answer and Bruce buzzed in, refusing to get Tim involved in this.

“I need you to bring a stretcher up here, O negative blood pack, IV leave the door open.” He exhaled quickly into the mic, his eyes still glued to his bed.

“O negative sir?”

“Just do it.” Bruce growled, his finger slipping off the intercom leaving a smear of crimson. He flipped the rooms full lights on, and blinked a few times, just to make sure he wasn't delusional. Then he was dashing around the bed, to the opposite side. He tore the rest of the covers off the bed, letting them slide to the ground, revealing the full image to him, he didn't take much time taking it in, his hand moving forward, sliding in thick crimson as he pressed his weight downward. The man was crazy, he was fucking crazy, god he was insane, was all that the billionaire could think as warm blood glided against his fingers, slipping through the cracks and onto the back of his hands. A pale body lay on his expensive silken sheets, blood slowly soaking into the white fabric, the comforter. Spreading out like a blooming flower around the body. Tattered blood stained clothing soaked in the crimson renewing any old stain they had obtained. A pale face was tilted towards Bruce, their normally rosy lips tinting blue, green eyes gazed sightless into space, a glaze creeping over them. Matted green hair splayed out against the pillow, plastering to the pale sweat soaked skin. Bruce pressed harder against the bullet wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood. The chest beneath his hands barely twitched with each inhale of breath.

How long had be been here? What was he doing here? Why was he here of all places? It took longer than Bruce wanted for Alfred to arrive, but the man instantly went to work, no questions asked regardless of how absurd the situation was. They moved the bloody body onto a stretcher. Bruce instantly ripping open one of the packages, slipping in the needle needed for blood transfusions, as Alfred swiftly carted the wounded male out of the room, the billionaire easily keeping stride with the running man as they twisted through the mansion. The elevator took longer than it should have, Bruce reapplying pressure as they slowly waited for the ping, and then the doors to open. They rushed out immediately, before the doors were completely parted. Bruce easily transferred the body onto the operating table. Getting out of Alfred's way as the old man darted around the room, shouting orders at the playboy. Bruce made quick work cutting off the tattered Arkham uniform, Alfred sterilizing his tools as swiftly as possible.

“He's been shot.”

“Thank you for that observation. Luckily, It seems to have gone straight through, we don't have to find the bullet, but I'm going to need you to flip him over in a minute, other than that, stay out of my way unless I tell you to.” Alfred stated steadily, going to work on the slipping male. Bruce attached the heart monitor, watching it slowly creep across the screen before repeating the process, he moved out of the man's way, only jumping in to help when the man required his assistance.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The room was silent except for the slow beeping of the heart monitor, their patient sleeping in the bed Bruce had occupied not even two hours ago. Bruce stood to the side of the bed staring down at its occupant.

“Well I hope your happy. I have officially saved a lunatic. Enjoy.” Alfred stated unhappily, shutting off the sink after washing his hands. Bruce couldn't dredge up enough pride in the action to say thank you, all he could do was nod his head slowly, as the man left the room. Bruce fell against the wall, letting himself slid to the floor in exhaustion, the adrenaline finally wearing off. He tilted his head back resting it against the white surface, closing his eyes, just for a second.

For the second time in the last twenty four hours, he was awoken by the steady beeping of a heart monitor, except this time it wasn't his. Taking in a deep breath he regretted it when his ribs complained fiercely against the action. One hand came up to hold his aching ribs, his eyes snapping open to take in his surroundings. He was still in the makeshift operating room, the sterile white of his surroundings contrasted starkly with the small puddles of blood drying on the floor, one of his bare feet rested in a crimson pool. He frowned holding back a shiver as chills wracked his body, the room was freezing. His toes and finger's icy cold, his limbs moved stiffly as he straightened his spine, sliding into an upright position against the wall. He pulled his feet in, ignoring the trail of blood the action left across the floor. Closing his eyes he left his head fall forward.

He was almost surprised that Alfred hadn't woken him up, given him a blanket, or whatever it was that concerned people do. Then again he had pushed the man rather hard tonight. First he, himself, is carted in littered with wounds. Then he needs the retired male to save an insane criminal that has probably killed a hundred times more people then Alfred ever had, and that was during a war. The Joker simply did it for fun. Bruce's eyes eased open at the morbid thought, just barely noticing how close the madman's bed was. A pale hand hung limply over the edge, just in his line of sight as he slumped against the wall tiredly. Without thinking the billionaire reached forward taking a hold of that lifeless appendage, noticing that it was just as cold as his own freezing fingers. Lifting it he shifted the blankets a little, slipping the hand underneath. He released it, but let his own hand rest against the bedding as he dredged up enough energy to stand up, the steady rhythm of the Joker's heart monitor and the release of air through his respiratory machine the only sound in the room.

Bruce's hand gripped the side of the bed ready to pull his aching body off the floor, but he stopped, his eyes catching something. Underneath the bed, spattered in blood was a slightly crumpled paper, the edges stained in dried blood. The billionaire's hand slipped off the bed, leaning forward he grunted in pain at the pressure on his ribs as he reached for the paper. He snatched it up quickly, straightening out his torso as calmly as possible, trying to avoid causing any harm in the process. He slowly turned the paper over in his hands, a sinking feeling settling over him, then he froze taking in its contents. It was a picture, he picture. The one the Joker had snatched from Vale, something that seemed like ages ago. Bruce sat on the floor at the Christmas gala, the Joker being attended to by the paramedics. The playboy's head was tilted back, the line of his neck exposed blood trailing down his throat. His eyes closed, his face, arms, body relaxed despite the chaos that reigned around him. Bruce had been taking a steadying breath, a moment to recompose, it was barely a moment, but they had captured it.

Gazing at the picture, even he could see Joker's twisted vision of it. To the Joker, Bruce was probably secretly revealing in the crimson that covered his body, soaked into his clothes, bathed his skin. The Joker saw potential in him, saw a beautiful blood soaked angel begging to be invited into the Joker's unique brand of insanity. Bruce's shoulder's slumped his hand's falling uselessly into his lap, taking the picture with them. He continued staring at it, the realization of the photo's meaning leaving a hopeless bitter taste in his mouth. There was nothing he could have done, nothing short of killing himself that would stop the Joker's sick fascination with Bruce Wayne, with him. The trip to Arkham had been pointless. Buying the asylum, the deaths that followed, all of the last twenty four hours, was pointless. The Joker would have gotten out, he always does, especially when he wants something. Needs something. That need was currently him.

Anger curled in Bruce's stomach and he crumpled the picture in one fist, lifting it up to rest against the bed he leaned forward, resting his head against his arm. He didn't know what to do, sure people had discovered his identity before, ones that even wanted to kill him at all costs, but none of them wanted him alive and well, wanted him to join in on their twisted sense of fun at all costs, people gave up, The maniac didn't. None of them were the Joker. How was he supposed to deal with this? He had always believed the Joker would never discover his identity, simply because the man didn't want to know. If he had wanted to know, he would have known by now, hell the maniac probably already knew. Just didn't want to admit it. Didn't want to change the game or some other sick reason. Bruce shook his head a little, letting out a frustrated noise at the back of his throat. He stopped suddenly, his eyes narrowing, finding something else, a smudge of crimson where it shouldn't be was laying in the corner of the room, blood smeared and alone, away from all of the puddles of blood. Bruce stood up ignoring how his muscles protested greatly against the action, his bruises taking every chance to remind him of their presence.

He popped his neck bones, pulling out any kinks from his terrible sleeping position before he made his way around the bed and behind some equipment. As the object came into view his stomach sank again, this time a retching horror clawed at his insides as he neared it. Bending down he was oblivious to his pain as he picked up the key card, the crumpled picture fluttering to the ground. It was the key card, the one he had stolen from the orderly at Arkham. The one he had forgotten about. The key card that let him through all of the security gates except maximum security. He was the reason the Joker had escaped. All of this was his fault. He was literally the reason the Joker was free right now. He had given the man everything he had needed. A way out of maximum security, a way off the compound unhindered. Could this day get any worse, he questioned bitterly gritting his teeth. How could he have forgotten about it? Something so crucial? Did that visit really rile him up so much that it had slipped his mind? Bruce was getting sloppy and he didn't know what to do about it, wasn't sure how to fix it. Pay more attention? It was hard when the Joker required all of it. Bruce looked up at the bed, almost not wanting to see its occupant.

Near the back of the bed an IV dripped steadily, ensuring that the Joker wouldn't be awake any time soon. Not that he should be awake after nearly bleeding out all over Bruce's bedroom. The playboy walked around the equipment and up to the bed, running a hand along the bed's guard rail, a disappointed frown marring his lips. He let his eyes settle on the man, the monster, laying in the bed. Blankets were pulled up to the man's chin, his green hair was blood soaked, caked and plastered to his pale forehead. An oxygen mask covered most of the man's smiling scars leaving him looking surprisingly human. His long lashes rested gently against his grime covered skin, his brows relaxed in the drug induced slumber. His chest rising and falling slowly underneath the blankets. Without the scars and the insanity dancing in his eyes, the man looked pretty harmless. Peaceful, even if it was only while he slept.

Which was what Bruce needed to do. Needed to get some sleep, he decided after a few minutes of simply staring at the man. His mind tired of running through all of the night's events. Real sleep, not passing out on the cold hard floor. He needed this day to be over. He needed time to think, time to fix things. Nothing would be done today, though. The sun would be coming up, there was nothing Bruce Wayne could fix. Not really, and Batman didn't journey out during the day. Opening some drawers he brought out another packet of blood, switching out the packs. He shifted away from the bed, making his way out of the room, scowling in irritation when he stepped in some blood. Taking a deep steadying breath he opened the door, then he turned back around, checking the IV one last time, just to make sure. The last thing he needed was to wake up to the rest of the household murdered in their sleep. He closed the door behind him, moving to the potted plant a few feet away he pulled out a hidden key, locking the door, just to be safe, that that it would hold the man for long. He put it back stiffly making his way down the hallway, hoping he wouldn't run into anyone. He wasn't in the chatting mood. Not at all.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

He finally made it to his bedroom, ready to crash he opened the door, shuffling over to the bed, the lights in the room still on. Until he realized that his sheets were still covered in the Joker's blood, the dulling crimson standing out just as startlingly as it did on the floor down stairs. Sighing he ran a hand through his hair, then regretted the decision, he still hadn't washed them, dried blood flaked off into his dark strands. Scowling he stared down at them, the browning substance caked onto his skin, under his fingernails. With another sigh he closed his eyes dragging up some more strength. He shuffled over to the bathroom, grabbing the remote off the coffee table on his way, he flipped on the television. He didn't really listen to it much, slipping into the bathroom he turned on the faucet, and doused his hands with a liberal amount of soap, scrubbing away at the blood. Suddenly his hands froze, steam rose from the sink, fogging up the lower section of the mirror. He tilted his head towards the bedroom, actually listening now. His eyes widened and he quickly shut the faucet off, dashing out of the bathroom and into the bedroom he snatched the remote back off the table, turning up the volume, disbelief flooding him at the headline. He swallowed hard, listening to the anchor.

“Again, it appears these criminal acts have been committed by none other than Bruce Wayne. The police are currently on the lookout for Gotham's owner of Wayne enterprises for the rape of two woman and the attempted kidnapping of a little girl,” Bruce fell back onto the bed, his eyes glued to the screen, his picture plastered all over the place.

“Their names will remain unknown for the time being, but we can tell you that they seem to be recovering well. All of this happened late last night, our sources say the calls to the police station happened around three to five in the morning. We have been informed that the GCPD are doing all they can to get to the bottom of these crimes. It has been confirmed that Bruce Wayne is the leading suspect in – .”

Bruce fell back into the bed, his back hitting the plush comforter, letting all of the air leave his lungs in a long drawn out sigh. What the fuck was going on? It was barely seven in the morning. He had caught maybe an hour and a half of painful sleep on the cold floor. It wasn't possible for him to be the main suspect. It just wasn't. He couldn't be two places at once, Bruce slowly sat up, or could he? His mind cranked through information, working as fast as it could. There was one person, who looked like him. Hush. He had escaped Arkham City as Bruce Wayne, but what was he trying to do? Why go through all the trouble just to discredit the billionaire? The man now looked like Bruce, what could he possibly gain from ruining his own image. Something didn't add up here. Something was missing. Something important and Bruce was afraid it was going to hit him harder then expected. It was one thing to have the police after Batman, it was another to have his daytime disguise compromised, where he lived, his money, assets, jets, contacts, well maybe not all of his contacts. He could still pull some strings, but only the ones Batman had made. He stood up again, stalking across the room he snatched one of his many cellphone out of the top drawer of his dresser. He typed in a phone number and waited.

“Hello?” Barbara's sleep riddled voice answered on the fourth ring, confusion in her tone.

“Barbara.” Bruce said unable to keep the exhaustion, and apology, out of his own.

“Bruce? Hey what's up? I heard you were at home, resting up and stuff. Are you okay? Robin said you looked pretty nasty.”

“I'm fine.” Then he paused turning his attention back to the television.

“Well, not entirely.” He added on, “Have you seen the news? The police are after me. I need you to find out what they know, I need to know what's going on. I'd do it myself but,”

“I'm faster and more efficient and you sound like crap. Have you slept yet? Aren't they always after Batman?”

“Not really. And this time it's not, Batman. Its Bruce Wayne.”

“What? Look don't worry about it, I'm on it.” Barbara said in a rush, obviously shocked at the revelation.

“Thank you.” Bruce sighed leaning against the dresser.

“Wow you really are tired. You're welcome. Give me a few minutes and I'll get back to you.”

“Wait.” Bruce stated before Barbara could hang up. “I was a little tied up at the clock tower. I need you to hack the GCPD and put in a request for blood tests on the dead Joker bodies. Speaking of which I'm assuming they're keeping that quiet.” The billionaire stated sating an itch on his arm, he held the phone with his shoulder, his eyes still glued to the television.

“You know they are. Could you imagine Gotham's reaction to more than one Joker running around?Look. Don't worry about it. The test request is... already done. So, again. I'll let you know when I have some answers. Get some rest Bruce.” Barbara hung up with that and Bruce went to pocket the phone, only to realize he was still in his underwear. His blood soaked underwear. His entire body had smudges of blood on it, reminding him acutely of that bloody day barely a week ago. The blood didn't matter though, he needed to get this figured out before the police came – the doorbell rang throughout the house. Surprised, Bruce rushed over to his com, switching on the screen portion, he tapped the front door's tile. Two police officers stood near the entrance, Commissioner Gordon at the front looking stern and extremely concerned. Maybe that shower wouldn't have to wait after all. The last thing he needed was to greet the police covered in blood. Bruce made his way quickly across the room, throwing off his stained underwear he jumped into the shower. He was done within minutes barely taking the time to properly rinse. He dried off quickly ignoring how every move he made hurt worse than before, or how unattractive his limping was.

He ignored the bruises glaring at him in the slightly fogged mirror but stopped short at the reflection of his face, his eyes widening, all the blood leaving his cheeks. The scratch marks lined the side of his face, painfully obvious to anyone who saw him. Scratch marks, made by nails. Bruce turned away from the mirror leaning back against the bathroom counter. He closed his eyes tilting his head back, he couldn't meet the police face to face. This was going to look bad either way, but at least with him not showing himself he can remain only a suspect and not the perpetrator. Growling Bruce slammed a fist against the counter, how the fuck did Bruce Wayne, he, rape someone. Regardless of who they were. He was voted most attractive man for the last five years and counting and he was a fucking billionaire for god's sake. He didn't need to resort to rape. Ever. Pushing off of the counter he stalked back into the bedroom, trying to ignore the television yet unable to truly tune it out.

“Speculations are rising that maybe Bruce's encounter with the Joker didn't leave him entirely intact. Many now believe that maybe madness is indeed contagious with the recent – .” Of course. The masses always found some reason for the things people did. Bruce switched the screen input on his main television, flicking to the camera of Alfred speaking with the police in the greeting room. The billionaire moved over to his dresser pulling out a pair of boxers and slipping them on, his eyes never leaving the police's interactions. He was just walking backwards, towards his walk in closet, his eyes still trained on the screen, when Gordon looked startled, pulling out his cellphone. The old man flipped the even older device open, the frown on his face deepening as he listened to the other end. Bruce walked back towards the screen trying to make out their lip movements, it was frustrating but he didn't regret not installing microphones, regardless of how much he wanted to listen in. Anything picked up by the microphones from outside the manor could be catastrophic for his identity, it wasn't worth the risk. Gordon seemed to be making double checking the information he had just received, while the rest of the group stared at him, just as confused as Bruce was. Then the Commissioner hung up the phone and turned back to Alfred, laying a supportive hand on the old man's rigid shoulder. Words were exchanged, Alfred looking adamant about something, and the police left the house, Bruce switched cameras, they drove away, barely sparing a glance back at the house. Alfred immediately turned on his heels as they disappeared and Bruce knew where he was going. He switched the news back on, and took a minute to glare at the headlines before remembering he was still half naked. He was just standing up when the door opened and Alfred stalked inside. Bruce stood up quickly, crossing the distance between them.

“What did they say? What happened?”

“Apparently you're a wanted criminal, but I see you've already noticed that.” Alfred stated, nodding towards the news.

“Yeah, apparently. Why did they leave?” The playboy asked in confusion.

“You've been apprehended.” Alfred stated casually, moving around Bruce's well toned body.

“What?” Bruce asked turning with the man, watching his father figure start to tear the bedding off the mattress.

“What are you doing? Just leave it.” Bruce added on stepping forward and Alfred placed a hand against his firm chest, stopping him.

“You look like shit, Master Bruce. I'm not going to sit around and let you just waste away to sleep deprivation, the guest bedroom across the hall has been fixed up for you. I'm going to take care of this. And you. Are going to sleep.”

“What do you mean I was arrested? You need just as much sleep as I do right now. And stop.” Bruce stated, tugging the bloody sheets from the man's hands.

“I don't know. The Commissioner simply got a call, saying that you were arrested and on your way to the station.”

“How is that possible – .” Bruce trailed off turning towards the television as the news anchor's tone changed.

“This just in, Bruce Wayne has been arrested and is now in custody at the Gotham CPD. We will await further information, and will keep you updated with all the new facts. Apparently the billionaire was found wondering the narrows, helplessly drunk.”

“I need to get to the bottom of this.”

“Only time will get to the bottom of this. You need sleep.” Alfred insisted, gripping the larger male by the shoulders he turned him around pushing him towards the door.

“This can't wait.” Bruce growled out, turning his head back towards the old man.

“It can, and it will.” Alfred insisted, pushing the male harder.

“I need to know – .” His cellphone buzzed on the dresser and he rushed to it, answering the call.

“Barbara.”

“Hey. I thought I'd call and let you know that, none of this stuff is solid. It seems the GCPD is just as out of the loop about all of this as we are. I'll keep tabs on it for any solid evidence but so far it's all speculation and word of mouth. I'll let you know when I get something, or they get something, but you know how the police work. It'll probably be awhile. You should get some rest.” Barbara insisted, a worried tone to her voice.

“Fine.” Bruce grunted out irritably, but Barbara was right, the Gotham detectives weren't the best and it was daylight. He wouldn't be rushing down there anytime soon. Shutting off the call he brushed past the old man, making his way out of the room, ready to cross the hall. He was done with this day and it seemed there wasn't much he could do in the meantime. He stopped across the hall, his hand on the door. Turning around he walked back into his bedroom.

“Alfred.” Bruce stated, getting the man's attention, Alfred simply hummed in acknowledgment as he continued stripping his bed, revealing just how much blood the Joker had lost. The mattress was completely ruined.

“Don't tell Robin.” Bruce asked, then realized he should have specified.

“He's going to find out.” Was Alfred reply, the man not even looking from his work.

“Don't tell Robin about the Joker.” The billionaire added.

“He's going to find out.” His father figure repeated himself, throwing the sheets to the ground.

“I know, but I need time, and I need him to stay away from the man. The later he finds out the better.”

“I don't believe that's wise sir.”

“Alfred. Please.”

“Alright, but I don't like it.”

“Duly noted. And thank you.”

“Get some sleep Master Bruce.” Alfred stated watching his charge turn around and enter the guest room without a backward glance.

Bruce thought sleep wouldn't be easy, but he was wrong. His mind blacked out the second he placed his head against the pillows, barely getting the sheets onto his bruised torso.

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

Sun glared through a crack in the open curtains gouging into his eyelids in a rude wake up call. He attempted to throw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the sun, but it was just enough time in the waking world for his brain to kick in. Reminding him of the events of last night, of the Joker, the copies, his failures, the destruction of his daytime self and there was no chance he was falling back asleep. He shifted slowly out of bed his muscles even more stiff than they were the day before, and he took a few minutes to stretch them out, working them gently, letting the muscles slide beneath his skin. He avoided moving his ribs as much as possible, but wasn't doing a very good job. His stomach gave a loud growl informing him just how long ago it was he had eaten. Scratching the back of his head, he also realized what a mess his hair was. He shouldn't have slept on it while it was wet, but given the option to blow dry it he probably would have just fallen asleep regardless. He attempted to flatten it out as he left the guest room, taking a glance towards his closed bedroom he didn't feel up to getting dressed right now, but that didn't matter he needed to be ready for the day. Ready for whatever came up, god knows something would come up. Walking into his room the first thing his eyes met was the brown stain on his mattress, flashes of the night before playing through his head. The feel of the Joker's blood on his hands, the way his heart raced in panic at the sight. Then he noticed some clothes on the bed, folded neatly on a clean space. Lifting them up he found a simple gray t-shirt and some black sweat pants. He guessed Alfred was right though, he wasn't going anywhere today. Not with a bounty on his head. Claimed or not his face would still garner attention on the streets.

Slipping on the clothes he decided to complete his entire morning routine. Fifteen minutes later he left his room, making his way down to the kitchen. He needed some food first then he would figure out what had happened while he was asleep. He got halfway down when he realized he had forgotten the phone he had called Barbara on, then decided against going back for it. He'd call her after he ate as well. He could hear someone in the kitchen before he reached the door, slipping inside as quietly as possible he found Tim rifling through the cupboards for a snack, or breakfast, depending on when the boy had woken up. The kid could really put food away, but that was only because he was still growing, muscle wise if nothing else. The teen should be finished with puberty any year now.

“Good to know you're not as stealthy while injured.” Tim stated, pulling down a box of cereal, instantly opening the top, he turned around shoving a hand full of cheerios into his mouth. Honey Nut. Bruce would have to have a chat with Alfred again. Tim noticed Bruce's narrowed eyes and frowned looking down, he realized his mistake with wide eyes. Grumbling in annoyance, the teen grabbed another handful shoving more into his mouth defiantly as he moved away from the counter. Just then the door on the other side of the kitchen swung open and Alfred stepped in.

“Ah, I thought you two would be awake. Master Tim put that away. I will cook you both a real breakfast. God knows you could use it.” The butler stated, borderline sour, as he opened drawers and pulled down cooking pans. Bruce closed the distance between them frowning at the old man.

“Alfred.” The billionaire stated disappointment in his voice and the man who raised him rolled his eyes.

“They have the same amount of vitamins as the regular ones do.” The man stated, bustling over to the fridge.

“That's not the point.”

“That is the point. Now sit down and shut up. Master Bruce.” Alfred tacked on sarcastically at the end of his sentence, pulling out some eggs and ham.

“No more.”

“Of course.” The ex-war veteran stated flippantly and it was Bruce's turn to roll his eyes. Giving up the younger of the two left the kitchen entering the casual dinning room he found Tim already lounging in a chair, his boots on the table, he flashed his mentor a lazy grin at the attention. Bruce knocked the boots off and took a seat beside him. He made an attempt for the remote, but Tim lunged forward beating him to it. The kid smiled sweetly sliding the remote across the table into Bruce's hand.

“I'm not that delicate.” The elder male muttered grumpily, turning on the television.

“Go spin that tale to someone else.” Tim replied haughtily with a hint of exasperation, turning his attention to the television as well. Bruce paused it before the woman could say anything, and Tim's eyes widened at the headlines.

“Does that say what I think it says?” The teen asked no longer slumping back into his chair.

“It appears so, I need to freeze the accounts.” Bruce stated in a serious tone, he clicked a button releasing a section of the table in front of him, popping up a computer screen he started typing. Robin reached back over and snatched up the remote, un-pausing the program.

“ – has been arrested, the authorities are unsure of what exactly is going on here, and we can't really blame them. I mean, we realize that some people want to be Bruce Wayne but this is ridiculous.” The woman anchor stated, a different one from the woman this morning.

“Yeah, this is definitely something that hasn't happened before. I don't think there is much protocol they would be able to follow. I mean how often does two of the same people pop up?” The male replied.

“Both are in custody as we speak, the GCPD are getting to the bottom of this and we will keep you updated, for those of you just joining us, our title may be a bit confusing right now. Last night a string of criminal acts were carried out by supposedly Bruce Wayne himself. Both witnesses and the victims themselves of two rapes and an attempted kidnapping claimed the perpetrator was none other than Bruce Wayne, the owner of Wayne Enterprises and Gotham's leading playboy in social circles. Around seven thirty Wayne was apprehended by the police wandering the Narrows, and just an hour ago Wayne was arrested again! We are unsure whether these are really Bruce Wayne, but they sure do look like him. The GCPD are running blood tests as we speak. This is definitely going to be a story for the books! The victims of these crimes are in reco – .”

“What the fuck.” Tim exhaled in shocked awe and Bruce instantly slammed a palm loudly against the counter making the teen jump.

“Language.” The billionaire stated, pointing a finger at the teen before going back to typing.

“Language? Seriously?! You're a wanted man and you want to talk about my use of language.” Tim snapped slamming both hands onto the table, just as loudly, he leaned towards his mentor, his eyes wide with incredulity. Bruce glanced up at the boy, unable to pass up the opportunity.

“When am I not wanted?” Bruce stated blandly and Tim slumped to the table, his hands carding through his hair, letting his head hit the solid surface once, twice, three times.

“You are really, really irritating sometimes you know that.” The teen hissed out, straightening back up and throwing himself back into his chair.

“Tim...” Bruce started, looking up and the kid simply glowered at him.

“Don't. Just don't.” The teen scowled, kicking his feet back up onto the table. His mentor rolled his eyes, finishing up the process.

“How is this possible?” Tim asked scoffing at the anchor woman now painting a morbid picture of the attacks.

“I don't know.” Bruce muttered back trying to remember all of his assets off the top of his head.

“What are we going to do?” The teen asked quietly, staring at the screen.

“I don't know.” Bruce replied again and Tim narrowed his eyes at the man.

“Whats your name?” Tim asked dryly, staring down his mentor, who's eyes hadn't left the computer screen.

“I don't know.” The man replied, attempting to hide the smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Tim pulled his feet off the table and leaned forward again. He sat for a few seconds staring his mentor down, trying to figure him out.

“This isn't a game Bruce. This is serious.” Tim whispered, worry and concern, fear even, tainting his voice. Bruce looked up from the screen taking in the teen's creased brows and bright eyes. The kid was right. This wasn't a game, but it was easier to handle if he pretended it was. This wasn't someone elses life on the line, it was his own. This was Bruce Wayne, not Batman, this was who he was born as. If he lost Bruce Wayne, could he be Batman? He wouldn't have the funds. Not really. What would he do in the day time? Could he live with being just the vigilante? Existing as just an idea? He used to think he could. That he didn't need anything else. That it was all trivial, but his Robins had changed that view. He didn't want to spend endless days simply fighting for a city he couldn't exist in, couldn't enjoy. He would do it of course, but it wasn't his preference, wasn't what he wanted. Tim's words also reminded him of the insanity sleeping below them. The Joker played games, not Batman.

“You're right.” Bruce stated and Tim frowned, slowly sitting back in his seat his baby blue eyes never leaving his mentors as he studied his face.

“Wow this week is fucked up.” Tim stated staring at Bruce like he was a three headed monster, or a foreign object, just as the door to the room opened.

“Language.” Both Bruce and Alfred stated, the old man maneuvering in a trolley of food. The billionaire just finished locking his assets when Alfred set down the last plate, he clicked the computer screen back into place and pulled the plate closer.

“Thank you Alfred.”

“You're welcome sir.” The man replied sitting down with them. Bruce didn't realize just how hungry he was until he had taken that first bite. Comfortable silence fell over the table as they all ate, too busy enjoying the food to comment on anything else. Bruce was halfway through his second omelet when the news station pinged in with an urgent announcement.

“This just in! Bruce Wayne steps forward! What appears to be the real Bruce Wayne has just called an impromptu press conference. We are going live now to the event! Now this is live and uncensored so parents be advised.” The anchor woman stated, and the screen changed to the conference, what really did look like Bruce stood at the podium, addressing the hordes of reporters.

“It has come to my attention that some men have taken it upon themselves to smear my image. I know I look good but well, they've gone a little far.” The spitting image of Bruce Wayne joked on the screen, dressed immaculately in a pressed high dollar suit. The camera moved a little getting a better angle of the billionaire's smiling face, which turned serious.

“Now I want to say that I was not anywhere near those crimes last night, I have a lovely alibi,” The fake Wayne gestured to a beautiful woman standing just off to the side. “and an entire club to back me up. I will be willing to subject myself to a blood test. I have in no way harmed anyone one way – .”

“Hush.” Bruce growled out, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his fork, the other hand's nails digging into his skin.

“Wait.” Tim stated tearing his attention from the screen.

“You mean that guy that got away in Arkham City? The one you've been trying to tracking down?” The teen asked watching his mentor's reaction.

“If he wants to slander your name... why fix it?” Tim asked, and then his eyes widened. Bruce was already a step ahead, shoving the food out of the way he pulled his computer back up.

“He wants your assets?”

“No. I think he wants to be me, which is my assets. So yes.” Bruce stated, typing code furiously into the computer. He hacked into one of the lower scale banks he used checking on the one thing that would unfreeze his accounts. His blood. Bruce cursed when he found it. It wasn't his DNA on record any longer, it was Hush's. Trying a few more databases he found the same result. His own DNA wiped from the system.

“What are you going to do?” Tim questioned, turning his stunned attention back to the man on the television.

“The one thing I can do.” Bruce replied combing quickly through his assets again.

“Who are you going to use?” The teen asked, turning his attention towards Alfred, the obvious candidate.

“You.” Bruce grunted, his attention on his task.

“Really?” The kid asked surprised and a little honored, but knew that wasn't the best choice.

“Hush isn't stupid, he would have known I would use Alfred as my backup asset holder. He would have gone through the means to procure a way around that, but you. He might not expect you.”

“You want to risk that?” Tim pressed his brows furrowed in concentration as well.

“Not really.” Bruce muttered, but it was the best course of action.

“Use Oracle.”

“What?” Bruce looked up.

“No one knows about Barbara. They wouldn't expect it and you know she won't run with your money. You buy her everything she could possibly want and she believes in you. In what you do.”

“I'm not going to put her in danger.” The billionaire muttered turning back to his work.

“Then we'll whisk her away to the Bat Cave. You know the second Gordon finds out he'll have her on lock down, you can show up and insist on keeping her safe. Taking her away to – .” Tim trailed off waiting for Bruce to agree.

“The Batcave.” Bruce indulged him, finishing his sentence. The playboy leaned back in his seat mulling the suggestion over. If he went with that plan he didn't want to risk waiting for Gordon to find out. He could just 'kidnap' her without Gordon knowing, it would worry him sick but then she wouldn't be connected to Batman at all, no that wouldn't work. Why would she be connected to Bruce Wayne? Batman could take her, tell Gordon he was inquired to do so by a friend that was in trouble and it sounded like a just cause. Gordon might buy it, he'd probably come out of it thinking Bruce Wayne knew Batman but that was the worst that could happen. Hopefully. It was better than hoping that Hush didn't have a backup Tim Drake or Dick Grayson hiding somewhere.

“Alright. We'll do it, but you need to go get her soon. Once I change these she needs to be safe, I don't want to take any chances.” Bruce decided, backtracking on his work through his assets, he would need to call some people as well.

“Should you really leave her here sir?” Alfred asked taking a bite of his eggs.

“She should be fine.” Bruce stated, engrossed in his work.

“Not as fine as she would be without a few additions to the grounds.” The old man stated flippantly.

“As long as there is dripping it won't matter.” Bruce insisted, then he paused, looking up at Alfred's silence, concern clawing at his insides when the man simply took another bite.

“It is dripping. Right Alfred?”

“It's you're toy sir. I want nothing to do with it.” Alfred replied airily, if the old man hated anyone it was the Joker, that much was certain. Bruce just didn't realize how much he disliked the male until now. What time was it? Bruce glanced at a clock, it was nearing five in the afternoon. The IV had been half empty when he had left, he figured Alfred would change it when he awoke, which was normally around ten on their late nights like last night, but if the man didn't. That meant the IV was probably out. Bruce cursed silently turning back to his task. He needed to get this done and get down there to change that IV. The last thing he needed right now was the Joker awake, he doubted the male would be able to go anywhere but he never knew with the madman.

“What is he talking about? What are you talking about? What is going on? Bruce? Bruce. Don't hide stuff from me.” Tim warned, standing up from his seat, his jaw set with determination.

“I'll tell you later Tim.” Bruce brushed him off, hoping to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal.

“Don't later me! If this is important I need to know.” Tim demanded, leaning over the table again.

“Later.” Bruce stated again, and the teen's eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

“What if later gets me killed?” Tim whispered, miss-communication was the lead cause for death in police partnerships. They weren't police but they were partners.

“It won't.” His mentor insisted and the kid shook his head.

“Whatever.” Tim scooted his chair away from the table noisily, stalking out of the room, obviously intending to search every inch of the house.

“Tim! Go get Barbara.” Bruce called after him, his tone demanding and dead serious. Tim stopped, turning his head to look over his shoulder he sent Bruce a death glare, then he turned towards the door instead of farther into the house. His boots echoing through the halls as he left. Bruce took a deep breath, unsure how he dealt with so many teens. The billionaire finished up the work of changing his policies to Barbara's name and social security, meanwhile he picked up the phone Alfred placed beside him on his way to clean up the room. Bruce dialed Barbara's number from memory pressing send he moved it between his shoulder, getting back to work.

“Hello?”

“Hey Barbara.”

“Hey. You sound better! Have you seen the news?”

“You were supposed to call me.”

“I'm not an idiot. You needed sleep.” Barbara stated motherly.

“What do you have for me?”

“The coroner's sent the blood to the lab, it should be done in a few hours. As you can see from the news there are more then one of you. They're taking blood samples from them as well. Those should be done around the same time, they got precedence of course. I'll keep you updated on the results. So, you have any idea what's going on? Because the police still don't.”

“It's Hush.”

“The creepy guy from Arkham City?”

“Yeah. The one you said was me going crazy.”

“I apologized for that.” Barbara whispered, knowing her words had really hit Bruce.

“I know. He's trying to get to my assets, I think he wants to be me.”

“Well that's a pretty good guess.”

“I've made you the sole owner of all of my things. You're the only one who can unfreeze my accounts. I've sent Tim over to bring you to the Bat Cave.”

“Whoa whoa whoa! What did you just say?! Did you just tell me I'm the only means to retrieving your money?”

“Cars, bank accounts, vacation houses, the mansion, stocks, Wayne Enterprises. Everything.”

“Wow. I, um, I'm glad you trust me.” The girl stated, shock evident in her voice.

“As long as you don't resist coming in it'll remain that way.” Bruce joked, still typing away.

“I'm not going to run off with your money.” She laughed.

“I know but you're stubborn. So don't be and we won't have a problem.” Bruce replied just finishing up the changes.

“Again, I'm not stupid. I'm okay with the added protection. I'll wait for him to get here.”

“Sounds good, keep me posted on the blood results, and leave a note for your dad.”

“Will do, good luck Bruce.” Bruce hung up and immediately his phone started ringing off the hook. He answered every one of them, confirming the changes. As long as the changes went through before they realized what was happening in Gotham he'd be fine. Hell his asset holders better keep them frozen until the entire situation was figured out or he would be switching companies immediately afterwards. As he spoke he made his way towards the lower areas. Brushing off Alfred's concerned questions of his well being. His ankle hurt like a bitch as he continued walking on it, but it seemed the swelling had gone down a tinge or maybe that was just what he would like to think. He really shouldn't be walking on it, but after years of beatings he tended to forget about the wounds. He stood outside of the room finishing up the calls for the next half hour. Finally he hung up the phone and turned to stare at the door. He didn't want to deal with this. Couldn't he just pretend the Joker was still asleep and leave him locked up? No, the room wouldn't hold him and they still had the surgical tools in there. Shit. They still had the surgical tools in the room. Bruce hesitated on opening the door. Then he remembered that the Joker wouldn't kill him, well shouldn't kill him. He had tried before, but would he have really killed him? He didn't have time to debate on the madman's mood swings. The longer he waited the more likely the man would be awake.

Taking a deep breath Bruce opened the door. The room was quiet, the heart rate monitor and respiratory machine the only sound in the room. The Joker was still in the bed, the same position as before, still asleep, but the IV fluid was out and his heart rate was better, but the billionaire couldn't tell if he was awake or not, he appeared asleep. Bruce's shoulders a little slumped in relief as he walked into the room, still on the lookout for any surprise attacks from the sleeping male, but hoping for the best. The first thing he did was quietly swipe any tools or syringes the madman could possibly use, which was everything really, and silently placing them outside of the room. Bruce quietly unhooked the IV, switching it out for a new one he retrieved from the cabinet above the sink, keeping one eye on the maniac through the entire process. When he was done, he took a step back, taking in the Joker's disheveled state again. He looked like shit, and the cuts and scrapes on his face were still an angry red, infection setting in. Bruce moved forward gently pulling the blanket away from the madman, letting them fall just below his navel, taking in the blood stained bandages and infected cuts across his bruised chest and stomach. He couldn't just leave the guy with swelling wounds and simply take care of the most important ones. Besides the stench of dirt and blood was getting to Bruce. He didn't want that smell to be what the Joker woke up to. Who knows what it would do to his mood, probably make him happy, and a happy Joker was a homicidal Joker. Bruce moved to the sink, quietly pulling out some rags and a bowl from the cupboard beneath it. He turned back around to watch the IV drip quietly, he brought out his phone checking the time, he would give the drugs ten minutes to pull the maniac back under and ensure he stayed there.

The minutes slowly ticked by, and Bruce spent that time formulating and dismissing plans for bringing down Hush. He had time to figure out a solid course of action. The fake Bruce Wayne wouldn't be able to cause too much damage while he took his time ironing out any kinks. Taking Barbara was a rash action, but it was probably the best course. Hush wasn't an idiot, he would have thought of all of Bruce's possible candidates for unfreezing his accounts, but Batman's were unknown. Even if they weren't, Barbara was in his custody, she would be safe from anything Hush would try to throw her way. Once the ten minutes ticked by Bruce turned back around running hot water into the bowl. He placed the bowl on the now empty tool tray, dipping a rag in the near burning water. He moved next to the bed, watching the Joker's face for any signs of being near consciousness.

There was nothing, no flutter of eyelashes or twitch of muscles, just the even steady breathing and the steady beep of the heat monitor. Slowly Bruce lifted the rag, bringing down onto the madman's forehead carefully, still watching for any reaction, but none came. He drew the cloth down the side of the male's temple ending at the mask's elastic. Clearing the dirt streaked flesh as he went, revealing smooth pale skin beneath it. This close up he could see the blue veins peaking through the light tone, being slowly revealed by the clean water. Bruce swiped over the area a few more times removing what little dirt remained. He rinsed the cloth, cleaning the small cuts he had cleared way for, before moving to the man's forehead. The green hair was grungy and plastered to the man's skin getting in his way, irritated Bruce took the time to wipe the hair back away from the man's face, the oil slicked hair easily sticking to each other in clumps as he slicked them away leaving the man's forehead exposed completely. Rinsing the rag out again, he started cleaning the laugh wrinkled brow, running over the artificially dyed eyebrows, cleaning the dried blood from the fine hairs. Eventually he was forced to turn the Joker's head a few inches to clean the other side of his temple. The man's face moved easily, no changes in his sleeping form indicated the movement awoke him. Relieved Bruce cleaned the other temple and brow, with the upper half of his face done he moved to the man's jawline cleaning the scrapes and dirt there, slowly revealing every single bruise the man had received.

Bruce briefly wondered what the Joker would look like without his scars. Would he be beautiful? Handsome? Pretty? Cute? Average? The angle of his jaw and the slant of his brow pointed more towards the former. His frame was lithe though, he wasn't muscled or broad, so Bruce decided on the first. The Joker had probably been beautiful, stunning even with those sharp eyes and long lashes. Slightly disturbed at his train of thought Bruce moved on to his neck, over the bruises he knew where caused by his own hands and over the man's adam's apple. His neck was pretty clear of any cuts, so Bruce moved to his shoulders, clearing away the dirt. He switched over to the left side of the bed, cleaning a rather nasty looking cut on the Joker's right shoulder that was begging for attention. He worked as quickly as he could, getting halfway down the man's arm when he had to get new water. The male's biceps surprisingly more solid then the playboy had expected, which explained the hidden strength the man seemed to possess. He was cleaning up the man's right wrist, gently wiping the rough abrasions on his skin from the cuffs, when the heart monitor randomly sped up. Bruce's head jerked up to the man's face and froze. His own wrist enclosed suddenly, held in an iron grip. The Joker's lids snapped open and their eyes met. They stared at each other for a full two seconds, Bruce easily reading the Joker's emotions in those spare seconds, the confusion, fear, determination.

Then the hold on his wrist was released, Bruce lunged forward to stop the madman but it was too late, the Joker ripped the IV needle from his arm tossing it to the floor, the heart monitor beeping away at an accelerated speed. The billionaire quickly jerked away, and the madman fell back against the bed, his chest rising and falling with his effort, not even bothering with removing the heart monitor, his energy apparently sapped for the moment. Bruce's back hit the wall, his head turned to the left like he was facing a wild animal, unsure if staring him down was the best method. The Joker's green eyes darted around the room taking in every weapon and escape route he could find before they fell shut, his head falling back against the pillows, his muscles relaxing. One shaky hand reached up and tore the elastic bands on his mask over his head, specks of dried blood raining onto the sheets and his bandaged chest as he tossed the respiratory mask to the floor to join the IV needle. He smacked his dry lips scowling at the foul taste in his mouth, left from the drugs they had pumped into his system. One grime covered hand lifted up to run down his pale scarred face, ruining the work Bruce had just done in one long pull. The Joker's eyes opened to half mast, leveling glassily onto the billionaire, staring at him, a small loopy smile tugged at his scarred lips.

“Hey there precious.” The Joker greeted him, his voice gravel, the last word getting stuck in his throat and he coughed with a grimace.

“How long have I been out?” The madman asked closing his eyes again, holding back a groan of pain. Bruce watched him carefully letting his left temple rest wearily against the wall as he tried to judge the man's mood. So much for one peaceful day of rest.

“Not long enough.” The playboy finally muttered when the madman fixed him with an irritated glare, the Joker smiled, letting his head lull to the side, resting against the pillow.

“Well it did take you long enough. I got so tired of waiting.” The Joker whispered, his eyes lazily watching the playboy.

“You almost died.” Bruce stated incredulously, a frown marring his masculine features. The Joker frowned as well looking around the room, like he was missing something.

“Well, next time you should hurry.” The madman stated, almost like it was obviously the correct course of action. Bruce's eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“Next time, don't come here.” The playboy hissed and The Joker hissed in sympathy glancing down at his feet, which he wiggled under the covers.

“Not much of a choice, love. And I was just, dying, to see you.” The madman smirked holding back his weak laughter of amusement.

“Next time die somewhere else.” Bruce stated blandly, his face void of emotion. The Joker pouted, turning his attention back to the playboy, who was still basically pressed against the wall.

“But the game isn't over yet.” The Joker complained, shifting a little in his place, obviously uncomfortable but too lazy to actually move. Bruce shook his head in disbelief.

“This isn't – .”

“Bruce?!” The door slammed open, Bruce's head jerked around taking in Tim's huffing form in the doorway, the furious look on his face. A small hitch in breath came from the bed, and the heart monitor sped up. Bruce snapped his head back around to find the Joker staring at him, eyes wider than usual, unblinking, his lips parted. His heart rate increased under Bruce's attention. The Joker's eyes slipped to the side of his face and Bruce swallowed hard, his shoulders slumping. He understood. One hand lifted to trail along the scratches on the left side of his face. The scratches the Joker had taken so much time admiring last night. Tim's eyes were just as wide, but he was staring at the madman in the bed.

“You've got to be kidding me.” Tim muttered in disbelief and betrayal.

“You're hiding. The Joker in here?! From me?” Tim exclaimed his hands balling in fists as he rounded on his mentor, and partner.

“Not now, Tim.” Bruce exhaled, realizing just how horrible this entire situation just turned out to be.

“Then when? Why don't you trust me?” Tim whispered desperately, stepping towards his father figure.

“We'll talk about this in a minute.” Bruce stated sternly, his jaw muscles tight, his lips thin, Tim didn't understand the situation yet.

“You heard the man, flit away. Little bird.” Bruce gritted his teeth at the Joker's taunting words, and the color drained from Tim's face.

“Later.” Bruce stated, shoving the frozen teen out of the room and shutting the door behind him. The playboy stood with his hand on the door, his back to the madman. He knew the Joker wouldn't kill him now, or would he? What if the game was over now? What if it wasn't fun anymore, he wasn't fun? Bruce slowly turned around his eyes trailing to meet those dancing green orbs.

“Now you know.” The playboy whispered, his eyes never leaving the madman.

“Kinda hard to miss.” The Joker stated slowly, a little irritated disappointment in his tone, his eyes losing their glassy sheen.

“Yet it took you this long. Why is that?” Bruce laughed dryly, letting his hand fall from the door.

“What's the fun in knowing.” The madman asked him with creased brows. Bruce shook his head, unable to believe the man.

“Are you saying you didn't know?” The playboy asked doubtfully, “Or that you didn't, want, to know. I bet you did know. You just didn't want to acknowledge it. Didn't want the fun to end.” The Joker raised and eyebrow and they stared at each other in silence for a full minute. The billionaire his head again, this time in confusion.

“Why would the fun end? Why would it matter who I was?” Bruce asked slowly, he had always wanted to know, and the Joker's eyes flashed, his tongue unconsciously licking the side of his mouth. His scars, and the billionaire understood one hand coming up to touch his own brow.

“You wanted me to be like you.” Bruce stated, letting his hand fall away.

“Scarred in some way. Imperfect.” Bruce whispered walking around the right side of the man's bed, watching green eyes trail away from the playboy.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Bruce stated and the Joker simply rolled his eyes, scratching at some dried blood on his arm, that turned out to be one of his own wounds, blood slowly creeping out of the new opening. Bruce cocked his head to the side leaning against one of the stationary machines, crossing his arms. He stood for a few seconds before shaking his head slowly, like he didn't quite believe the Joker's flippant attitude, but then he knew, had always known, and so had the Joker.

“No, there is a reason you left the billionaire playboy, voted most attractive man in Gotham, as the last high class socialite you attacked. It's because you knew. You knew at the ball, before the ball. You knew at Arkham. Is that why you tried to kill me?” Bruce asked quietly, he wanted to know needed to know. He just wanted some insight on the madman he had chased around the city for so long. The Joker rolled his eyes again, tsking in disbelief.

“Oh please, if I tried to kill you, you would know.” The Joker insisted, leveling Bruce was a lewd gaze. The billionaire shrugged his shoulders.

“Felt like it.” He stated, remembering the look in the Joker's eyes. The desperate need to distinguish Bruce's life.

“Then playboy Bats is a pussy princess.” The Joker growled, and Bruce scoffed, reaching out to remove the heart rate monitor, the last thing attached to the man, and the machine skyrocketed, the billionaire froze understanding what that meant. The Joker growled and ripped the thing off himself tossing it to the ground, refusing to look at the man, his face a blank slate. The way he looked in therapy sessions when he didn't want to play with his doctor's psyche. Bruce shut the machine off and walked back over to the bowl of water, picking up a rag he ringed it out.

“What if I am, is the game over then?” The playboy asked curious, as he squeezed the water out of it, he knew he was playing with fire. That the Joker wasn't someone you baited, but he had been playing with fire all of his life. It wasn't something he could just stop doing.

“No.” The Joker stated dryly leveling him with an unamused gaze.

“What if Hush wins, and I lose my status as Bruce Wayne. I can't be Batman anymore. Does it end then?” The Joker's eyes narrowed at him, the line of his lips growing thin at his words.

“No.” He stated again, this time with a hint of irritation. Bruce nodded his head, he was going to keep trying until he got a better answer. Then he knew what would get the Joker going.

“What if you didn't have them?” He asked actually speculating the possibilities that it would change the madman's behavior in some way. The Joker eyed him skeptically,

“What?” The madman questioned, not sounding too sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“The scars. What if you didn't have them. I have the money, the connections. What then?” The Joker brows furrowed, eyes widened, and his lips parted, staring at the billionaire for a full minute.

“Are you daft?” The Joker whispered slowly, and Bruce knew he had broken through.

“You think the scars are what make me the Joker?! Does that cowl make you the Batman?!” The maniac exclaimed with an angry hiss, insulted that Bruce didn't quite understand their situation, his breathing elevated. Bruce's eyes narrowed, then he broke their eye contact, when did he go from being Bruce Wayne to Batman? He recalled the rigorous training and the deep seeded desire to be something more, something better and then he was. It wasn't the suit that made him Batman, he had gone through plenty of suits to know that. Been through trials without the cowl and Kevlar. The Joker nodded his head with a little huff of amusement.

“Babe, this is who we are.” The Joker whispered soberly and Bruce looked up at him, their eyes meeting again. His lips thinned as the Joker's hand fell over the side railing in an attempt to reach for the billionaire, but his reach fell short, so he left it hang limply instead as an invitation. The Joker's eyes searched his own for a few more seconds before he parted his lips again.

“It's branded. In our Souls. You can take away the scars. You can take away the cowl. But we're still us.” He exhaled, then he hissed in pain, shifting in the bed. He tilted his head towards the playboy when he settled back in, a sad smile on his face.

“That's what I've been trying to get you to see. We're two sides of the same coin. My madness, is your madness. I. Can see, your, insanity. And you...” The Joker suggested raising his head off the pillows, trailing off with a smile. Bruce crossed his arms eyeing the madman who looked, almost hopeful.

“Can see yours?” Bruce asked dubiously, raising an eyebrow at the madman.

“Yes!” The Joker exhaled letting his head fall back again.

“Ah! All it took! Was a few bullet wounds to the chest! God if I had known it would be that easy. I would have done this ages ago.” The maniac joked with a wink towards the playboy. He then smoothed the bandages on his chest a little, as he cleared his throat.

“See Batsy, if I'm insane. Then you're insane. But, we both. Know. We're insane. So...” The Joker shifted again, a grimace of pain crossing his features.

“Am I insane Bats?” He asked turning wide eyes towards the unmasked vigilante. Bruce gazed into those sharp green eyes, the ones that held so much intelligence. In history wasn't the brilliant often labeled insane?

“Yes.” Bruce stated, the Joker couldn't handle the world as it was, couldn't see the point of helping people, so what was he to do with his brilliance,? He hated people, hates people. Most geniuses furthered the world, but why bother helping humanity when all you wanted to do was see it burn? So the world burned and the Joker laughed.

“Am I insane, Bats?” The Joker's eyes narrowed, and he frowned lifting himself a little off the bed, his brows creased in irritation.

“Yes.” The billionaire whispered this time, he was insane. They were both insane. And they both knew it. Which made them sane. To themselves, and only to themselves. To the rest of the world they were still insane. Brilliant madness held in helpless never ending cycles. Bruce would always watch those he helped fail, die, or be corrupted, and the Joker will continue burning, but creating nothing in his wake. They would never get what they were after.

“Am I. Insane... Bruce?” The Joker whispered back, watching the emotions play though the man's steel blue eyes. What if the cycle was broken? Bruce's eyes snapped up not realizing he had let them fall, meeting those bright eyes.

“... most of the time.” Bruce whispered tempting fate and the Joker huffed in amusement falling back to the bed.

“You're hopeless.” The Joker stated, a smile tugging at his lips, a real one. The one he hides behind homicidal grins.

“Hopelessly insane according to you.” Bruce tacked on, letting a smile of his own pull at his lips. The smile broke on the Joker's face, lighting up those green eyes and Bruce wondered what line he just crossed.

“And most shrinks. I know you've met some.” The madman joked, his smile morphing into a smirk and it was lost. Bruce realized that the rag had gotten cold, and turned back to the bowl with a shake of his head.

“I don't kill people for fun.” The billionaire muttered, rinsing out the rag again.

“No you saaaave them.” The Joker exhaled sarcastically, letting loose a little chuckle.

“That's not insanity.” Bruce stated turning back around to the man.

“Isn't it?” The maniac attempted to shrug his shoulders, but grimaced in pain, letting out a small hiss.

“It's not.” Bruce insisted, grabbing the man's limp arm and scrubbing some dirt out of one of the deeper cuts. The man's muscles tensed in pain, green eyes narrowing on the dark haired male.

“Is.” The Joker stated, his lips pursed.

“Isn't.” The playboy shot back.

“Is.”

“Isn't.”

“Is.”

“Isn't.” Bruce stated flippantly, he could play this game all night. The Joker stopped it with a little chuckle, flipping his arm over, revealing the soft flesh underneath.

“See, now we are insane! Doing something over and over again. Expecting different results.” The Joker whispered his eyes trailing down Bruce's figure, taking in his thin t-shirt covered muscles, the line of his jaw without the cowl.

“Shut up, before I give you more bruises.” Bruce stated, his voice lowering, almost reaching his Batman tone, but not quite and goosebumps broke out on the skin beneath his hands.

“Oh, there it is, saving people through violence. Insani – ty.” The Joker chuckled, punctuating the last word for effect. Bruce's stomach flipped at his words, because it's what he did wasn't it. He always saw the way Alfred looked at him when he came back from a night out. The hidden disappointment, regret. Now he couldn't get those moments out of his head. He tried to ignore them. Pretend they didn't exist. That Alfred didn't disapprove of his methods. That his only saving grace was his goals.

“Is not...” Bruce whispered, moving farther up the man's arm.

“Isn't it? Fighting fire, with fire, just makes. Bigger flames.” The Joker whispered back, his other hand left its place by his side moving over to tilt Bruce's head up by the chin. Their eyes met, and stormy blue narrowed in annoyance.

“Hasn't it?” The Joker asked biting his scarred lip, and Bruce ripped his face out of his hands, turning back to the task of cleaning his wounds. Not that the madman seemed grateful. Silence reigned through the room. The Joker's eyes darting back and forth between his own.

“Bats?” The madman called after a few seconds, when it became apparent that the billionaire was simply ignoring him.

“Baaaaats.” He tried again, his muscles tensing, the familiar irritation eating at him, his features twisting into a scowl. He tried to sit up but only really made it half way.

“Bruce.” He gritted out, when all the male did was move to the next cut. The Joker's hand shot out grabbing Bruce's own, the one that was cleaning his wounds. He tightened his grip, pulling the man away from his skin.

“Don't fucking ignore me.” The Joker hissed, attempting to crush the man's bones. Bruce's eyes snapped up, but Batman's were the ones that met him. Bruce twisted his arm, switching their hold, he gripped the Joker's wrist, squeezing tightly he stood up and leaned over the man shoving his hand into the bed by the male's side a scowl on his lips.

“I am not.” Bruce growled out, hovering above the madman, who's lips parted and eyes widened as the billionaire towered over him.

“Playing. Your fucking mind games! So stop, trying. I'm not your pet project. I'm going to heal you up and put you back where you belong. In Arkham.” Bruce hissed out, making sure the maniac knew exactly where he stood.

“So I'm. Your. Pet project?” The Joker asked leaning up, with help from his grip on the bed railing, Bruce's hand still holding it in place, their faces now inches apart.

“Why do you get a pet and I don't?” The madman pouted tilting his head a little more towards the billionaire and Bruce wanted to back away, his breath was rancid, the playboy didn't even want to know how many days the male had gone without brushing his teeth.

“You have a pet, her name's Harley Quinzel.” Bruce informed the man, and the maniac rolled his eyes with an annoyed huff.

“Oh that sad puppy that followed me home? That's not a real pet. I want a real pet.” The Joker whined and Bruce scowled.

“They'd just end up dead.” The Joker chuckled at his words, shaking his head, amusement dancing in his green eyes.

“No. That's your forte.” He licked his lips, “Do you know what you're waiting for Batsy?” The maniac asked quietly, and Bruce's grip tightened on the man's wrist, the Joker's fingers twitched from the pressure.

“You leave a lot more dead behind you.” Bruce growled through gritted teeth ignoring his question, his voice slipping lower, and the Joker's eyes flickered down.

“Not one's I care about.” The Joker's eyes narrowed slyly, and the billionaire's followed in anger, a scoff leaving the playboy's lips.

“Because you're a bipolar sociopath. Which is why you're going back to Arkham.” The vigilante stated, his voice finally falling into his usual growl. The Joker exhaled airily, closing the distance between them, his lips resting against Bruce's softly.

“I'd like to see you try.” He whispered against the larger male, Bruce jerked back instantly. Removing himself from the man's space, running an arm in disgust across his lips. The Joker licked his own bottom lip, sitting back into the bed, the bandages on his chest now spotted with blood.

“And that, Bruce... was what you were waiting for.” The Joker whispered darkly, a satisfied smile on his lips. The playboy scowled, tossing the rag back into the bowl. He didn't need to play this game. He stared at the madman, he was fucking bonkers if the maniac believed that. Just absolutely insane. He didn't need to deal with this right now. The man was awake, Bruce didn't need to help him, he wasn't helpless anymore.

“I don't need a pet project.” The billionaire stated gripping the tray, he rolled it over to the bed, ignoring the Joker's stunned look.

“You can take care of yourself.” Bruce said blandly meeting the bright green eyes one last time, he stepped away from the bed again and turned his back to the madman, making his way to the door.

“Woah-wa-w-wait. Hold on!” The Joker called after him, there was a scrambling against the sheets and a hiss of pain behind the billionaire. The madman huffed back into the bed, one hand on his shoulder as he watched Bruce turn the door handle.

“Come on Bats. You're not. You're not actually going to just run away are you?! You're, hey! You're running away! You're running away Bats! Bats?! Bruce?! Get back here! I'm not done with – .” Bruce slammed the door shut behind him, locked it, turned, and stalked down the hallway without a second glance, he didn't make it far however. Tim was leaning against the wall near the elevator. His eyes immediately narrowed in on his mentor. They were going to have a talk. Now. Bruce so didn't feel up to this.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

I would appreciate if you guys pointed out anything that doesn't seem probable. I like my stories to flow well and not seem entirely like a cracked out fanfiction where you stop and say wait... that's not possible in real life. So let meh know!


	8. Ghosts Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TIm and Bruce but heads, while the Joker does, what the Joker does best.

I kinda really like my Robin character... rofl. So sorry for the long winded section between the two. They're cute. Awwww. Cute.

Merry Christmas Fallon.

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

Shattered Identities

Chapter 8

Ghosts Inside

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Silence reigned through the hallway, the only sound the near inaudible rush of the air conditioning and the extremely faint muffled cries of frustration from their new house guest. Bruce stood awkwardly in the middle of the hall, his bulking presence taking up quite a bit of room. He gritted his teeth and stared at the vase displayed a few feet away, the priceless vase, family heirloom vase, probably wouldn't last very long with the madman in the vicinity. He should get it moved, but couldn't really bring himself to care. Tim still leaned against the wall, his eyes narrowed in on his mentor, watching his every move, which was nothing. Bruce's lack of incentive in their little chat was frustrating the teen with every second that ticked by. Tim huffed some air out through his nose, gritting his teeth in anger.

“Are we seriously, just going to just sit here all day? Or are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on, and if – .”

“Lang – .”

“ – you say Language so fucking help me.” Tim warned pushing off the wall and stepping towards the man, one finger zeroed in on the opposing male.

“ – uage.” Bruce finished, slowly turning his attention to his irate partner and adopted son. Silence reigned through the hall once more but this time it was the calm before the storm. The teen's face darkened with a scowl, his fists curling into white knuckled fists. Finally with a cry of frustration Tim dashed forward and the billionaire raised his forearms, ducking his head a little, blocking his face against the teen's violent onslaught, but not bothering to dissuade his attempts. To stop the ruthless uncontrolled assault on his body. Tim slammed a fist into Bruce's arm once, twice, again, and again, over and over, letting the action slowly sap his strength, his anger. Finally the punching stopped and the kid stumbled back a few steps with a discouraged huff. Then he teetered forward, pushing violently at his mentors sturdy form with one last huff of frustration. Then once more, weakly, when the first attempt didn't budge the man, and he knew the second one wouldn't as well. Tim let his hands slide from his mentor's newly bruised skin, his shoulder's slumping as he closed his eyes.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Tim asked disheartened, watching the floor, not meeting Bruce's eyes when the man finally lowered his arms.

“Why do you think?” The billionaire asked quietly, letting his own shoulder's slump. Alfred had been right, it wasn't the best idea, but Bruce thought he had more time, would have more time.

“You think I can't handle him? I've handled him before!” Tim's head snapped up, determination and disappointment marring his youthful features, his hands balling into fists again. Bruce shook his head in negation, letting his eyes fall to the floor. They stood in silence for a few more seconds, Tim growing incredulous by the second, ready to throw more punches if that was the only thing that got through to the man, but he'd give him some time. Tim knew how awkward Bruce was when it came to personal issues.

“No. He promised to kill you, yes. But, tell. Me. He doesn't interest you. That you're not curious.” Bruce demanded and Tim shook his head with a small incredulous laugh, staring at the billionaire as if he were the crazy one.

“Curious? About what? He's an insane homicidal sociopath. There's nothing to be curious about.” The teen stated firmly, taking a step towards his mentor, his shoulder tense, brows creased in irritation. Bruce shook his head sadly, his lips pulled into a tight smile.

“Why I keep you away from him.” The man revealed, knowing Tim was smart enough to know exactly what he was talking about.

“I know, why you keep me away from him.” Tim growled, one finger thrusting towards the ground in a decisive gesture.

“Jason. I know that.” The kid insisted quietly, hating the fact that the dead Robin ever existed, held so much sway over Batman's view of him.

“That's not why and you know. That.” Bruce stated forcefully mimicking the teens gesture and Tim clammed up, his jaw tightening his brows furrowing father. He tried to hold his gaze with his mentor but had to look away, letting his shoulder slump, because it was true. Tim closed his eyes taking a deep breath, tilting his head he opened his mouth, but Bruce beat him to it.

“Don't make excuses, you know why I didn't tell you and it hurts. I know. But I couldn't have you snooping around him. I needed more time.” Bruce informed the teen, letting his muscles loosen a little when it seemed he had gotten through to the kid. The kid tensed up at that, a scowl back on his face.

“Time for what?” Tim snapped in exasperation, throwing his hands out in confusion, fixing Bruce with a confused piercing gaze. Bruce stepped forward as Tim retreated back to his defensive position.

“To figure out what to do with him.” The playboy stated sternly, his eyes narrowing down at the kid's continued frown. Tim rolled his eyes, easily meeting Bruce's intimidating gaze.

“How about what you always do with him, send him back to Arkham.” The teen suggested, crossing his arms like it was the obvious course of action. Bruce closed his eyes, reigning in some patience, and the guilt the kid's words brought upon him.

“Arkham. Is in shambles. They'll never hold him long enough to make a difference. He'd be back on the street within the week, if we're lucky. The way those so called, doctors, were talking. It probably wouldn't even be a day. I don't need that right now, Gotham doesn't need that right now. I have enough to currently deal with, then to have to chase down the real Joker across the city. Or deal with his retaliations against the fake ones. People would die from his wrath alone.” Bruce explained, his brows furrowing in concern, hoping that the teen understood the situation they were in. Tim took a deep breath and finally his eyes softened with a sigh, and a few seconds later he nodded his head, placing his hands on his hips, he stared at the designs on the wall.

“He knows.” Tim whispered, worry eating at his wrinkle free face, he gazed fearfully into his mentor's eyes, looking for the solution to all their problems in those steel blue orbs.

“He does.” Bruce replied, breaking their eye contact, unwilling to reveal to the teen just how little he could do about that, realizing a bit more the implications of his statement. There was a small pause of silence, and the teen looked down at his feet.

“I'm sorry.” Tim whispered quietly, and Bruce immediately frowned, shaking his head, his eyes snapping to his adopted son.

“No. It wasn't you're fault.” The billionaire insisted, ready to pound that fact into the kid's head with as many repetitions of that sentence as he needed. He wouldn't let the teen blame himself for this, the Joker would have know whether he had entered the room or not. Tim simply sighed, meeting his mentor's eyes steadily.

“What are we going to do?” Tim asked, concern etched into his features.

“We? Aren't going to do anything.” Bruce stated crossing his arms, while Tim raised an eyebrow at him, shifting his weight onto one foot, he crossed his own arms mirroring the man's stance.

“You and Alfred are going to leave the house. I don't want you two anywhere near him, and I don't have the facilities here to hold him. Barbara's at the Bat Cave. I'm not risking her safety by testing our holding cells against the best escape artist in Gotham. That's out of the question.” Bruce stated with finality and Tim scoffed, running a hand through his hair a sardonic smile tugging at his lips.

“So you want us to run.” The teen sneered incredulously.

“Relocate.” Bruce corrected him, narrowing his eyes at the kid's attitude, a sour smirk gracing the teen's lips.

“Run.” Tim insisted, the smile not leaving his face, and the billionaire frowned taking a few steps forward, towering over the teen.

“As long as you're not here, fine. Call it what you want. Get your things packed and move. Go keep Barbara company.” Bruce suggested, and Tim chewed on his cheek for a moment mulling the demand over. Finally the kid sighed, rolling his eyes up at his burly mentor.

“Fine. I'll take the old geezer and we'll go make friends with you're bats, but remember I don't like this idea.” Tim stated, poking Bruce in the chest with one finger his eyes still trained on the man's blue ones, before pivoting around, Bruce barely had time to register the poke before the kid was halfway down the hall.

“Tim?” Bruce called after him, just before he turned the corner. The teen not bothering to turn around.

“Stay away from the Joker.” The playboy demanded with a grim expression, watching the kid wave halfheartedly in acknowledgment as he turned the corner.

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

Bruce was about to reach the hidden door leading to the Batcave, he wanted to check up on Barbara, when the house com closest to him turned on.

“Master Bruce. I believe you have a visitor.” Alfred's voice echoed through the hall. Bruce almost missed the good old days when the man actually had to track him down. He got more things done back then. Bruce changed course, walking up to the com he activated the microphone.

“Who?”

“Lucius Fox. I believe you know him sir.” Alfred said haughtily and Bruce rolled his eyes.

“I'll be there in a few minutes.”

“And we'll be waiting sir.” The supposed butler replied, the billionaire already making his way back into the mansion, barely hearing the man's words. It didn't take him long to reach the greeting room, one with less windows than usual, just in case.

“Lucius.” Bruce greeted entering the room and waltzing towards the man.

“Bruce.” Lucius replied, grabbing the arm that Bruce extended him, shaking it for good measure.

“It's good to see you... being you.” Fox informed him and the billionaire's brows creased.

“What's that supposed to mean? What happened?” Bruce asked while gesturing to one of their expensive arm chairs across the equally expensive coffee table. Lucius took the offer walking around the furniture to take a seat with a deep sigh.

“I'm sure you've seen the news?” His CEO asked and the playboy nodded his head, taking a seat as well, his attention solely on his guest.

“We'll I've spent the good part of the morning trying to keep. You. From taking hold of the company.”

“I can't take hold of the company, I signed away any right to run Wayne Corp, to you. And only you.”

“Yes. Well that little tidbit hasn't gone public yet, which seems to have been good for me. Considering you came in this morning armed with all of the paperwork needed for it. I've been hassling with that wannabe for hours, and I must say he's rather annoying. Don't ever take the playboy on as you're sole persona. Ever.” Fox insisted a rather irritated look gracing his usually serious features.

“I'll keep that in mind.” Bruce replied and Lucius let out a little laugh, shifting in his chair.

“He literally had everything he needed to take over the company. Even the blood sample checked out, which is why I came here personally. I had to be sure you didn't get yourself involved in some kind of memory, erasing, I don't know, something. Then I realized that – .”

“It wasn't the right D.N.A?” Bruce finished for him and Fox nodded his head, leaning forward in his seat.

“I tested it on some equipment I've been working on, that will only activate for you, and it didn't work. So either my design is faulty or...”

“It wasn't me.” Bruce finished again and the other man gave him a tight smile leaning back again.

“What did you do?” The playboy asked curiously, sure the man did something to postpone the takeover.

“I'm stalling him right now, but you need to take care of this business. The sooner it gets taken care of the better. If I have to divulge that signed paper to the world, I'm going to have a bounty on my head anytime someone wants to pull this stunt, or anything like it again.”

“I'll figure something out soon. How many days do I have? Roughly?” Bruce asked, the weariness of the last few days creeping into his voice.

“You have a full week, starting today, definitely. Since the papers we drew up, for the previous change in oversight of the company, dictated a full week before anything is finalized. After that I can't tell you how long I will be able to hold the company without the document. It depends on how good their lawyers are versus ours.” Bruce nodded his head at Fox's explanation, leaning back in his chair he crossed his ankle over his knee.

“I shouldn't need that long, but with the way things are going this week I might. Do what you can and keep me posted. The last thing we need is for you to become a target. I want you hidden away the second that document is released to the courts. Let someone stand in for you. I'm not taking any risks with this one.” The billionaire replied his gaze far away as he worked through some of the plans he had come up with. Wondering how long they would actually take.

“I'm not going to argue with that, I like my job, and I don't want to die.” Fox smirked just as Alfred entered the room, carrying a tray of tea. The two men murmured their thank you's distractedly.

“I would hope not. What was this other me like?” Bruce asked curious, picking up a teacup that was easily dwarfed in comparison to his large hands.

“Irritating, extremely self centered, egotistical. He acted like it was his birthright to run the place. He came in, I'm sure intending to take the place by storm, over turn the leadership and what not. It was nice to wipe that smug look off his face. I suppose no one would be able to tell difference between you two.” Fox stated jestingly and Bruce's eyes narrowed in good nature.

“Gee, thanks.” The billionaire stated sarcastically a small smile pulling at his lips. His playboy persona was a little obnoxious to say the least. It had actually been nice to run in that political campaign for shutting down Arkham City. He was able to show that he wasn't all needs and testosterone. They both sat for a few seconds smiles on their faces, before Fox sobered up.

“Really though. It would be hard to tell you two apart judging simply from an outsider's point of view. Anyone in Gotham that doesn't know you personally wouldn't look twice, while the ones that do, would probably just think you're simply having a midlife crisis.”

“Great.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I'm not sure yet.” Bruce reluctantly admitted, he didn't have a solid plan yet and he wasn't going to promise Fox any specific dates.

“That's. Not something we hear everyday. What? You're not going to just, run in guns blazing, so to speak?” Fox asked slightly taken aback. Bruce shook his head slowly his eyes trained on the glass coffee table.

“No. There's more going on right now then just Hush trying to take my identity, someone's taking the Joker's as well. What the outcome of that would be is beyond me. What could someone possibly want with that madman's skin?”

“Well.” Fox paused staring at the coffee table as well, before his eyes bounced back towards the billionaire, who looked up to meet him.

“You run the law, yes? They side with you. You do whats right and have the good doers on your side, the well known politics and the famous spotlight. In essence, you run the light, the day. While the Joker. He – .”

“Runs the dark.” Bruce stated, and Fox nodded his head in affirmative.

“The criminals, mafia, black markets, the ill moral side of Gotham. If they took over Batman and the Joker.”

“They would rule the city. Imports, exports, elections, trafficking, drugs, clean and dirty money trades. Bank accounts, stock markets, hell even movie trends.” Bruce whispered, realizing the full impact of losing both their rule over Gotham.

“Just a thought.”

“Why couldn't I see that?” Bruce asked quietly, stunned that he didn't realize that himself, it was so obvious.

“You like to pretend the Joker doesn't have as much foothold in this city as he really does.” Bruce leaned forward a little letting one hand run through his short hair.

“They want to take over Gotham... Hush wants Gotham, but he can't rule it alone. Someone has to be Joker... but who? I need to find out who his partner is, who's connected to this. I can't make a move on Hush, not while he's in the public's eye. The Joker though, I can close in on him.”

“At least you have a start then. Is there anything else you need help with?”

“My grappling gun...” Bruce started into a full recount of the damaged equipment, both men getting engrossed in the discussion.

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

The door slowly creaked open, silence reigned through the room, only cut by a slow beeping. Then boots clicked across tiled floor and a deep chuckled built slowly from inside.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? A little lost birdy? What a brave soul, you, are. Let me take a quick guess why you're here! You want to, play, a little game? Didn't daddy tell you not to play. With fire?” A voiced mocked dangerously, dancing green eyes meeting determined baby blue. Tim crept into the room slowly, leaving the door open behind him, too nervous to actually bring himself to close off his only exit, his eyes trained on the grimy roughed up male reclining in the bed. He didn't let his nerves show however, he kept his eyes fixed on the man lying lazily in the hospital like bed, an IV pumping blood and clear fluids into his veins.

“He did, but I don't see why its such a big deal. I'm not Jason after all.” Tim stated venomously, bringing up a topic he knew was sore for the madman, recalling his last encounter with the Joker. He had won that battle, and he liked to think it was because of his skills and not the madman's shock at seeing a living breathing Robin. God Bruce had looked so scared when he had heard, demanded he never set foot near the maniac again, but Tim could handle some nutjob, regardless of the death threats the man threw at him.

“Hmm,” The Joker sucked his cheeks in, tapping his fingernails on the bed railing, trailing his eyes up and down, the teen in front of him.

“You're not, no.” The madman's eyes snapped back up. He paused for a second then scoffed good-naturedly rolling his eyes.

“Oh, don't look so, tense, love bird. I know I promised to kill you, but! Doing that right now would be boring, and, uh, troublesome to say the least. Oh, but, don't think I'm taking it back. No take-backsies! I will kill you. Just not today.”

“I'm not too worried. You're not that scary.” Tim stated, crossing his arms and leaning back against a machine, daring the man to state otherwise, to bring up the multitude of people he's killed. The maniac chuckled, nodding his head.

“You're right! I'm not! A little hacked up sure! But scary? Me? Never. I'm just you're average Joe, trying to make sense of the world at large. It's, such a big world.” The Joker exhaled dramatically falling back and throwing one arm across forehead, his eyes closed for effect.

“You're not an average Joe, but I've seen men scarier than you.” Tim replied, his lips thinning in irritation at the man's antics. The Joker laughed, leaning back forward, he stopped and they stared at each other for a few seconds, before the madman tilted his head. Biting his lip, he gave the teen a once over, his eyes snapping back up to meet those determined baby blue ones, his face going blank.

“Then you're. Not looking. Hard. Enough.” The Joker whispered stoically, a sadistic smirk suddenly tugged at his lips, followed by a slow chuckle. The madman leaned back looking bored, he lifted one of his hands up to inspect under the nails, which were filthy. He didn't do anything about it, though. Tim's eyes narrowed, irritation clawing at his insides. Why did he come in here? What was he looking to prove again?

“I've killed more people then you've killed ants.” The Joker laughed flippantly, and Tim scowled.

“I've dealt with crazies before, and I still don't see why he worries about you so much. So you get off killing people and don't care about personal gain. I don't see how that's scary. It's just dumb.” Tim countered, his eyes narrowed in on the Joker, searching for what he was missing. What was so scary? The guy was crazy sure. Killed a lot of people, yeah. Who did they go up against that didn't? Did Batman simply think he couldn't handle himself, like Jason couldn't? Was that the only reason he didn't want him near the Joker. If Tim could just get to the bottom of it. Figure it out then maybe. Maybe. He could convince Batman, Bruce, that he could help. That he could take the Joker on, could survive and be an asset, that those years training abroad wasn't for his good looks. He just needed to find the root of Bruce's concern. What made the Joker more dangerous than the rest? Wasn't the Riddler basically the same as the Joker. He took hostages and made elaborate traps for Batman to fall into, what was the difference between them? The Joker didn't have a conscience?

The Joker narrowed his own eyes at the boy, worrying the bottom of his lip as they stared at each other for a full minute. Then the madman nodded, tilting his head to the side, a small smile gracing his scarred face, a deep chuckle emanating from his chest, he leaned back into the bed again closing his eyes in amusement.

“You know kid. You and me. We're a lot alike. The Me. And... You.” The Joker giggled gesturing between the two of them, his green eyes piercing through Tim's baby blue ones. Tim scoffed uncrossing his arms, this was a waste of his time. There was nothing different between the Joker and the Riddler except the former's penchant to kill at the drop of a hat.

“Please, I'm nothing like you.” Tim scowled out, eyeing the man with disgust. This could be funny. Maybe the madman's reply would make this at least an entertaining encounter, rather than a complete waste, give him something to actually think about while Bruce chewed him out. The Joker broke their eye contact, an excited grin stretching his scars.

“Oh ho ho. That's what you think, that's what you both think.” He laughed quietly, “Then again you're both wrong, like father like son right?!” The Joker stated, leveling his amused gaze on the annoyed looking teenage.

“Yeah? Fine. Amuse me. Why are we the same?” Tim asked flippantly, ready for some strung up explanation of their childhoods or some bullshit. He heard the Joker liked to make up background stories. The Joker grinned, shifting in the bed he sat up straighter, leaning towards the kid a little, he fixed an unblinking stare onto the teen, their eyes shifting to take each other in. Then the Joker's mouth moved, the word whispered into the air like a slow acting poison.

“Obsession.” Tim's heart dropped out of his chest and into his stomach, bile crawling to replace it. That was a joke right, the madman couldn't possibly be referring to... anything really, he was over reacting. He wasn't obsessed with anything or anyone. The guy was grasping at straws.

“What?” The teen breathed out, trying to keep the emotions out of his tone and failing.

“It's simple really. Batman! I mean. Bat. Man. Who wouldn't want a piece of that action!”

“I am not attracted to – .” Tim scoffed, with narrow eyes, ready to leave the room.

“Oh, save it for someone who cares!” The Joker exclaimed cutting him off, “It doesn't matter what stage of the obsession you're in right now, it's still. An obsession. One we share. We. Thrive. On. Me and you, are alike. You and I. Obsessed. With Bats. With. Bruce.” The Joker chuckled a little shifting his body a little more towards the kid, his hand on the bed railing, his head over the edge of the bed, keeping their eyes locked. Tim raised a skeptical eyebrow. Sure he aspired to be like the man, admired him, but never sexually, never desired him, not like that.  
“You're wrong, which makes sense, because you're crazy.” He stated insistently, ready to pivot on the spot and leave the room, but leaving would seem like an admission and the last thing he needed was for the Joker to think he was some kind of competition.

“Oh come on kid! You can deny it all you want! I know... Who you are.” The Joker stated, the insanity slipping from his voice for just a second, easily catching Tim's full attention, filling the teen with a fearful dread he hadn't felt for a long time. His muscles tensed on their own, ready for a fight.

“You had a perfect, functioning, family before him. You had a life, a future and what did you do?” The Joker whispered between gritted teeth, sadistic amusement dancing in his eyes.

“You wasted it away, dashing after the man in a cowl and cape. Easily throwing that, boring, life away for just a glimpse of his true self.” The Joker let out a dark chuckled, Tim's eyes now riveted to his own. Tim's heart raced a little faster as the madman kept talking, whispering words he didn't want to hear.

“But he doesn't give it does he? He never lets you in... Will never let you in. You know why you're not the first Robin? And you won't be the last? Because Dick gave up. He was tired of chasing, tired of waiting, tired of wasting his life. You'll do the same and some other starry eyed boy will take you're place but, Jason?” The Joker chuckled again, licking his lips, his eyes a little glassy as he took a moment to remember the boy, his lips thinning.

“He came close.” The Joker finally whispered venomously, at the memory of the previous Robin. Tim gritted his teeth, his brain running away despite his demand to stay calm. It threw at him every mention Bruce made of the other Robin. Ever recollection that stopped the man in his tracks, every reminder that Batman didn't want Tim to end up like Jason. Didn't want him to, be, like Jason. What if Batman was scared of more than just him losing to the Joker? No. Don't listen. This was madness.

“He was self-righteous, and uh, volatile. Lived on the edge and plowed out his own borders. He pushed Bruce's ethics, his reasons. He was close. So. Close. He wedged his way into the man's steel heart. And then!”The madman paused, letting Tim's heart speed up in fear, disappointment, betrayal, waiting for the man's next words. What Batman, Bruce and the old Robin could have shared.

“I. Killed. Him.” The Joker giggled, slowly breaking out into a full laugh. Tim shook his head defiantly, trying to rid himself of the sudden pain, regretting his rash decision to enter this room, humiliation at letting it effect him. He didn't want to think about this, he didn't want to think about any of it. He didn't want to delve into the basis of his desire to find Batman's true identity, he didn't want to know why he was always so angry the man didn't trust him, didn't see him as an equal. Why the mention of Jason always set his blood on fire.

“That's ridiculous. You may claim to know me, us. But you don't know anything.” Tim stated calmly anger still seeping into his words, he turned to leave and it was the Joker's turn to scoff.

“You? I don't need to worry about you! That's why I haven't killed you yet! Because you'll never get in there. You'll never, tear, at his walls from the inside with just the. Utter. Of your name. You'll never be Batman's Robin. You'll push and pound and shove but he'll never see you.” The maniac sang mockingly. Giving the kid a shrug of pity, and wide innocent apologetic eyes, when the kid rounded on him with an angry gaze and gritted teeth.

“You're wrong.” The teen growled out, his features warped with the emotion. The Joker tutted, ignoring the kids anger.

“He'll never notice you're there, you're just a reminder of someone better. You follow him around like a lost puppy, whining for attention that he's too busy to give you. Too busy. Morning. The death of his. Favorite. Little Robin, the one that made him feel. Alive. You're a filler that will never seal that gap.” The Joker plowed on regardless, sitting up slowly, painfully, really ready to get this steam train going.

“You're wrong...” Tim hissed out, his fists tightening. The Joker's features finally twisted into anger, as well, at the teens continued denial.

“You weren't even an orphan before this.” The madman hissed out leaning over the side of the bed.

“You had. A family! You had a home! And you left it! For this, fucked up, merry go round of crazy town known as Bruce Wayne!” The madman sang, throwing a hand into the air.

“You're a teenage boy, for god's sake! With growing hormones! And yet you spend your nights chasing criminals instead of girls. You'll go on to chase bad men while others your age are getting degrees and falling in love, living real lives! Which is something you'll never have. Not with this life that he's condemned you to. People will die, and they'll die, and they'll die some more! Welcome to the roller coaster of hell kid! This ride doesn't have a pretty stop back at the start, it ends in an explosion of flames and body parts!”

“That's bullshit.” The teen pushed through gritted teeth his fists shaking, taking a menacing step forward, who was this man to say he'd never find love? That this life wasn't right. Who was he to tell him how to live? The madman laughed dryly, shaking his head.ada

“Was it worth it Tim? Was he worth it? Is running around in a little boy's costume worth the rest of your long youthful life? The training and agony, the loss and death. The destruction and. Vile. Degradation of the world around you?” The Joker hissed back, then he licked his lips a sad expression morphing that scarred face. There was a small pause and Tim didn't want to hear whatever the man had to say next.

“Was. It... right of him?” The madman asked quietly searching the teen's face, concern and pity written on his scarred features.

“To let you? To pull you away from that? What kind of cruel monster removes a boy from his loving home and. Trains him. To be a crime fighter. To fight. His. Crime? His battles? His war?” The Joker continued, letting out a dry scoff with equally dry laughter. The madman nodded his head, leaning back a little he threw his arms out.

“It's okay, Tim. Men in Africa do it all the time! Make little minions for themselves, children who worship them, aspire to be them,” He leaned back forward, “grovel for their acknowledgment and approval, because they know nothing else. Just. Like... You.” He stated harshly and Tim's jaw started hurting.

“Was that how you wanted your life? Living in the. Shadow. Of what he thinks is. Perfect? What he thinks is. Worth. His. Time?” The Joker turned his head a little, a playful look on his face.

“Is what you do, even right? Just? Is what you've been lead to believe the world is, real?! Beating up people for beating up other people? Does that sound like a solid plan to you?! Fighting fire with fire?! Violence with violence, pain for pain, an eye for an eye!” The Joker stopped suddenly, nodding his head at the boy, his matted hair barely moving with the effort. A knowing grin cleaving his face. He chuckled darkly, breaking out into a loud barking laughter. The madman shut up suddenly, slapping the railing, the sound echoing through the room, almost startling Tim. The Joker leaned forward again, as far over the railing as he could.

“You know why. He does it. Right?” The madman whispered like he held the secret to the world, so quietly the teen had to strain to listen. The Joker paused, giving the kid a sultry look, that had the teen scowling.

“Because it feels good. Makes. Him. Feel good. Sends chills down his spine, tingles across his brain. Blood rushing through his veins.” The Joker laughed heartily, rattling the bed railing, leaning back forward.

“Does it feel good to you Robin?! Or do you just want to make him proud? His own fucked up version of a straight A student! His little trophy boy! ” The Joker cackled loudly at the outraged expression that twisted the kid's features.

“Enough!” Tim cried out, raising a boot he violently slammed it into the side of the bed, sending it forcefully into the wall, leaving a large dent in the plaster. The Joker jerked from the force of the impact, falling backwards with a loud giggle. His head collided painfully against the wall, silencing his laughter for only a moment, before the bed bounced back, rolling a few inches towards the angry teen. Mad laughter filled the room and the Joker clutched his stomach and injured shoulder with the effort, rolling around on the bed.

“What's wrong little bird?! Didn't you want to play?! Next time bring some cookies – And I'll play – Nice – .” The Joker broke off giggling madly, his eyes squinted in sheer joy at the teen's reaction.

“You're fucking insane.” Tim growled out, resisting the urge to punch the man in the face. The Joker's eyes widened as he gasped for breath. The laughter dying out enough for him to speak.

“I'm. Sorry! Do I need to make memo cards? Post it stickers? Should I get a jacket? Care! Criminally insane! Don't poke, prod, or piss off!” The Joker faltered, as the teen turned away from him.

“Hey wait! Where are you going sweetheart? Our play date over already? I thought you. Wanted! To see why Batsy keeps me around! Hey!” The Joker shouted viciously, one hand shooting out, grasping the teen's retreating wrist in an iron clad grip. The madman, lifted the other hand, grabbing a hold of the kids shirt and jerking him down to eye level, making sure the kid was paying attention. He licked his lips as the kid clawed at his hands.

“You know the really fucked up part, cupcake? You and I. We're both just his whimful creations. Both the outcome of his little exper-i-ment. Called life. Being molded to his. Personal needs. Wants. Desires.” The Joker leaned in closer, hissing through gritted teeth.

“He made us both. That... Tim... Robin? Is how we're the same.” The Joker whispered loosening his grip letting the teen slip away from him. Tim jerked away from the madman the second his hold lessened and he stumbled back. The Joker sat back laughing as the stoic teen pivoted. Tim stopped in the doorway, looking like he wanted to tell the madman something, anything. Instead he slammed the door shut behind him, stalking down the hall, muffled laughter following him, his hands shaking. From anger or, or something. It was anger. Of course it was anger. It was anger. But then... Why did he feel like crying?

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Bruce instantly noticed when Alfred came into the room to sweep away the trays, immediately cutting off the discussion he was having with Lucius Fox. He leaned forward in his chair, watching the man walk through the room with growing concern.

“Alfred. Why are you still here?” Bruce asked fear clawing at his insides, as he took in the man's confused expression.

“I'm sorry sir?” Alfred questioned, freezing in the action of picking up the tea tray, equally concerned, tired eyes meeting the billionaire's.

“Tim. Did he talk to you? Have you seen him?” Bruce stood up from his chair, already knowing the answer to his question.

“I'm sorry sir. I have not. Is something wrong?” Alfred stuttered watching the playboy's tense muscles, and serious expression.

“It was nice seeing you Fox. I'm sure you know the way out.” Bruce called behind him as he rushed out of the room, not sparing the occupants a second glance.

“Bruce?! What happened?! Bruce!” Alfred called after the man's retreating form, shaking his head when the male simply disappeared around the corner.

Bruce stalked down the hall heading towards the elevator, fear eating at his insides, what if he was too late, what if – he paused, a sudden chill sweeping down the hall from an adorning branch of the mansion. A section that lead to Tim's room. Bruce back tracked quickly, rushing down the hallway he reached the kid's open bedroom, no sign of the teen, his things still were Tim had left them. The cold wind was coming from farther down, so he ventured on, turning a corner into the hallway that overlooked the gardens. His shoulder's sagged in relief as he rounded that corner. Tim was down the hall a little ways, the window thrown open. Little drifts of snow filtering through, dancing onto the carpeted floor. Tim was sitting on the window ledge, his legs pulled up to his chest, his gaze staring down at the snow covered ground, curled in on himself. As Bruce approached he could tell something was wrong. The teen was tense, the hands gripping his jeans white knuckled. Bruce closed his eyes, letting loose a little sigh of weariness.

“Tim.” Bruce called quietly as he reached the boy, the teen didn't startle, simply flicked his eyes onto the male before turning his gaze back towards the grounds.

“I told you not to talk to him.” The billionaire whispered sternly, stopping inches away from the teen, concern written across his features. The teen was silent for a few long moments, before finally turning his head, eyes closed, and rest his head on his knees..

“I know.” Tim confirmed not leaving the safety of his self induced darkness. The playboy got closer to the teen, looking down on his dark head. Smiling a little at the cowlick from where the boy messes up his hair while he sleeps.

“What did he say?” Bruce asked curiously, hoping he could fix whatever damage the madman had done. Tim simply shook his head, refusing to meet his mentor's eyes. They sat in silence for a full two minutes, Bruce trying to figure out what to say, then to work up enough nerve to just say it. While his mentor sat there, a warm presence by his side Tim watched the snow swirl across the white blanketed gardens, dance across the frozen pond. Finally Bruce sighed and hefted himself up onto the other side of the large stone ledge, the window ledge meant to hold potted flowers, snow melting into his clothes as he sat down. Facing Tim he crossed his legs, studying his adopted son with worried eyes. Bruce cleared his throat looking down at the grounds as well.

“Look, Tim. Whatever he said, it wasn't true. It may sound real, but it's not. He doesn't know anything.” Bruce insisted, still unable to bring himself to say those things to the teen's face. Tim's head lifted slowly towards him, intelligent baby blue eyes chilling the billionaire's skin as he turned to meet them.

“He's not insane.” Tim whispered assuredly, watching his mentor shift uncomfortably in his spot. The larger male's eyes fell to stare at the stone beneath him, running his hands along the black sweat pants on his thighs.

“No... He's not.” Bruce replied slowly, watching the window ledge collect snow as goose bumps broke across his skin from the chill.

“Then why?” Tim asked after a moment, confused and frustrated, unable to comprehend the Joker. The question could be so many things, and the answer could be just as vast, but only one came close to the truth.

“Because he can? I don't know.” Bruce trailed off shaking his head, his eyes back on the half weathered stone, taking in the difference between the inside and the outside. The pale rain washed, wind beaten side to the immaculate inside.

“But you do know.” The teen answered steadily and Bruce closed his eyes, his brows creasing at the thought.

“Maybe.” The playboy admitted, his eyes moving back up to the teen's, who hadn't left their mentor from the start.

“Tim whatever he said, I know it makes sense. That doesn't mean it's true. Doesn't mean that's whatever, is there. I just... you can't listen to him. Harley Quinn – .”

“Did you love Jason?” Tim cut him off staring imploringly into steel blue eyes. Bruce frowned, and he leaned forward a little, confused and entirely weary of this subject.

“Tim. What did he say to you?” Bruce asked more forcefully, he needed to know so he could fix this. He should have watched the kid closer, taken the key, anything to keep this from happening. From letting the Joker flip his Robin's world upside down.

“It doesn't matter what he said, just answer the question.” Tim demanded, anger seeping into his own frown. It took Bruce another minute of staring into space, long enough that the teen scoffed, ripping his eyes away from the male. Finally the billionaire sighed, staring down at the grounds again.

“Yes. Of course.” He said quietly, barely heard over the small wind ebbing around them. Tim's head snapping around to stare at him.

“He was my son. Dick, Jason. You. You're my son.” Bruce admitted, turning his eyes back to the teen, taking in Tim's parted lips and large eyes.

“Is that what this is about? Did the Joker tell you I don't love you?” Bruce asked and instantly the kid's eyes glistened, jaw tensed. Tim jerked his head towards the grounds, which only let the lights from outside dance across his wet orbs, reflecting in the waters pooling there.

“Tim.” Bruce whispered, unsure what to say or do. Should he just say it? That he loved the kid? Loved his adopted son and student? Could he say it? Could he bring himself to utter those words. The words he hasn't said since his parents had died? He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, trying to will himself to just say them. To fix this, but he couldn't, his shoulder's slumped, he couldn't say it. He looked up and watched the lone tear slide down the kid's cheek, which Tim quickly wiped away, and he couldn't just do nothing.

“Come here.” Bruce whispered with a frown, awkwardly holding his arms out. Tim's brows furrowed and he turned his head slowly, eyes widening at the sight before him. The offer.

“What?” Tim breathed in disbelief, unsure he wasn't hallucinating, that all of this wasn't just some stupid nightmarish dream.

“Come here.” Bruce stated again, gesturing towards himself with a twitched of his fingers and Tim let out a bark of laughter.

“I'm dreaming.” Tim muttered to himself with a quiet laugh, turning his attention back to the grounds. Bruce sat there for a few seconds, unsure what to do from here. If he should just let it drop or should try again? Try harder? His arm's fell a little and he was just about to awkwardly let them go when the kid shook his head in doubt. Tim shifted, pulling his feet beneath him, and suddenly he covered the small distance between them, wrapping his arms around Bruce's chest. The billionaire stiffened for a few seconds at the contact, slowly letting his arms enclose around the boy. Tim's hands balled into his gray shirt tightly, his face buried in the playboy's shoulder. Tim pulled his legs closer, letting himself fall into Bruce's lap, curling around the man's warmth. Letting the tears slid down his face and soak into the man's shirt, just letting go. Eventually Bruce's chin came to rest on top of the teen's head and Tim laughed a little, because he felt safe. Safer than he ever had in his life.

“Is it weird...” Tim started then broke off for a second, shifting his head, resting his forehead against Bruce's collar bone, freeing his chin and mouth.

“That I care more about your approval, then my own father's, even before he died?” Tim whispered quietly, and Bruce's arms tightened around him, the chest beneath him rising farther than usual, until his mentor let go in a long exhale. The breath tickling the hair's on top of his head.

“I don't know.” Bruce eventually stated, entirely unsure. It would have been fine with Dick or Jason. Their father's had been long dead, they needed a father. Bruce was their father figure, in every way he could, but Tim. Tim had a father while under his wing. Maybe the man's paralysis had something to do with it. Or maybe it was the man's devotion to his work before the poisoning? He had heard in passing that the man payed attention to his son though, enjoyed spending time with him.

“Is it weird. I would cry more if you died?” Tim asked still not moving from his position. His hands still digging into his shirt, his breath still ghosting across Bruce's chest.

“No.” Bruce finally decided, absently watching the snow drift down below, the winds picking up, their chill brushing across them in an icy embrace and Tim moved in closer, his legs pressing against Bruce's side.

“Is what we do out there. The way we fight crime. Is that right?” Tim asked finally moving his head from the man's chest. Peering up at his mentor's uncertain eyes. Bruce sighed and ran a placed a palm on the boy's forehead, running it up and through his hair, flattening it away from the teen's skin. The billionaire leaned forward, placing a firm kiss against the teen's head, lingering for a second, then he pulled away, letting his arms fall away from the boy.

“You need to find Alfred, and get to the Cave.” Bruce stated with authority. Tim bowed his head as disappointment and thrill warred inside of him, watching the man's chest rise and fall with each breath. Bruce stated shifting beneath him, and the teen shook his head.

“You didn't answer the question.” Tim whispered stalling the man, his eyes moving up to stare into Bruce's own again.

“It is. We stop crime.” Bruce insisted almost childishly and Tim raised an eyebrow.

“With crime.” The teen tacked on, watching his mentor's lips thin out in irritation. The man took another deep breath shifting his legs a little, Tim shifting with them, his butt meeting cold stone and he was suddenly painfully aware he was sitting awkwardly in his mentor and adoptive father's lap like a small child that he wasn't anymore.

“It's one way. There are other ways. Harvey was another way.” Bruce whispered, staring down at the teen who held a dawning look of understanding.

“Dent?” Tim asked, shifting a little away from the larger male. Bruce nodded at the kid's question and the teen mimicked the action.

“What would you have done? If the Joker hadn't of stopped you? Him?” Tim asked and Bruce suddenly looked away, his brows furrowing.

“I don't know. Retire?” The billionaire joked turning back with a little smile on his face and Tim rolled his eyes.

“Yeah right.” The kid stated with a smile of his own, slamming a fist into the man's muscled arm.

“That would be the apocalypse.” Tim added on with a laugh, and the larger male shrugged smugly. Then Bruce tapped the teen on his side, jerking his head towards the kid's room.

“Get a move on. And next time.” The male leaned forward, towering over the teen in his lap.

“Listen to me.” Bruce demanded, his eyes narrowed good-naturedly.

“Aye aye, captain.” Tim smirked, hopping of the window ledge and out of his lap with a half-assed salute. The kid came to full upright position and stood there, shifting awkwardly for a few seconds once silence fell over them, both unsure what to say. Bruce cleared his throat, both avoiding eye contact. Finally the teen took a deep breath and turned around, walking away, he got a few steps before pausing and turning back around, a worried look on his face.

“Be careful with him.” Tim insisted and the billionaire smirked with a scoffed amused.

“Why? Is he dangerous?” Bruce asked sarcastically, raising one eyebrow.

“I was going to say manipulative, but I guess that sums it up.” The teen shrugged offhandedly turning back around as the billionaire nodded his head in agreement.

“Just get out of the mansion, so I can stop worrying about you.” Bruce called back to him and the teen nonchalantly waved a hand back at him, everything back to normal.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Bruce stayed at the window for a few more minutes, staring at nothing in particular, until the wind picked up speed, sending icy blasts into the mansion, soaking into the expensive carpet. The billionaire shivered as he reached out to pull the window closed, it swung inward and he hopped down at the last second, just before the glass forced him off the ledge. The playboy scowled as he landed on the wet carpet, soaking into his feet as he walked off the damp patch and onto the dry floor. Only realizing, now that he wasn't being pelted by snow flakes, that his clothes were just as damp. He wanted to head up to his bedroom and take a quick hot shower, check on his healing wounds, but checking in on the Joker sounded like a better plan, even if it was just making sure the door was firmly locked.

Bruce made his way down the hall and past Tim's empty bedroom, several items missing from its vicinity, little things, like his jacket or music device, laptop. The billionaire smiled a little as he turned the corner towards the elevator, appreciative that the kid had left so quickly. The ride down in the elevator was quiet, Bruce lost in his thoughts, running through the discussions he had with both Fox and Tim. The quiet walk to the makeshift hospital room was quick, which was made even shorter due to the ajar door. Bruce's heart fell into his stomach as he took in the open room and he dashed down the remaining hallway, shoving the door open completely, letting it slam against the wall.

The bed was empty, the sheets thrown to one side. He instantly noticed the new half empty bag of blood he hadn't given the Joker, hanging innocently on the drip line, and the clear liquid packet beside it. The billionaire stalked forward turning the empty bag around to take in the label. Modafinil. Bruce violently tore the packet from the line, throwing it to the ground in anger. The cabinets by the sink were thrown open, a few broken bottles shattered on the ground, two syringes lay used on the tool tray next to him, two bottles near them. Bruce snatched one of the bottles up, twisting it around to read the label. Foradil. He scowled and snatched up the other one. Rocephin. So the Joker had taken something to keep him awake and then treated any side effects from it, something to keep his lungs functioning and to fight infections. The bastard even knew drugs. Bruce tiredly threw the bottles back onto the table stalking out of the room he glanced down at the little pile of surgical tools he had left on the ground, immediately noticing the scalpel was missing. Scowling he jogged down the hall, pulling out his phone as he went dialing Tim's cellphone. The kid answered on the fifth ring, almost giving Bruce a heart attack with the unnecessary delay.

“Tim, where are you?” The billionaire immediately asked, just reaching the elevator.

“Almost to the Cave. Yes Alfred is with me. What's up?” The teen asked curiously, and Bruce let out a sigh, pressing the button to call the compartment.

“The Joker's lose.” Bruce stated, and Tim swore colorfully on the other side of the phone. Alfred immediately admonished him.

“I'm sorry Bruce. I was. Distracted. I didn't... lock the door.” The kid sighed guiltily and Bruce shook his head, despite the teen not being able to see it.

“It's okay. There's no one here for him to hurt. He'd have to go pretty far with his injuries to do any harm to anyone.”

“He could do you harm.” Tim countered with a quiet stern voice.

“He could try.” Bruce snapped back as the elevator door dinged open, he shut down the call before the kid could reply, stepping into the small room he paused, staring at the lit up numbers on the wall. The Joker could be anywhere in the house. The mansion. If he were the Joker, and had just gotten up, where would he go? What would he do? Eat? Maybe. But that madman didn't seem like the type to care about food. He was thin as a stick and Bruce wasn't sure that was simply because of Arkham.

What if... the billionaire pressed a button, waiting patiently for the elevator to ascend several floors. The ding echoed through the hallway as the doors slid open and Bruce glanced wearily out of the box, checking the hall for any signs of crazy. When nothing met him he stepped out, turning in the familiar direction, he crept down the carpet as silently as he could. Stopping just outside of his bedroom, the door slightly ajar, just as he had left it. He reached out placing his fingertips against the wood and gently eased the door open, taking in every shadowy corner the madman could hide in. There was nothing out of the ordinary in the room, it was entirely possible the maniac hadn't been here, except that his bathroom light was on. He kept the door closed, but he never left the lights on. Bruce slowly, silently, crept across the room stopping outside of the bathroom. Making sure to avoid casting any shadows under the door as he pressed himself against the wall. He could hear the water running inside, and a merry little hum echoing off the walls, the rest of the sounds drowned out by the rushing water.

Bruce pressed himself against the wall, slowly reaching over he grabbed the handle, twisting it as silently as he could. The door slowly eased open the small click inaudible over the noise. Bruce suddenly threw the door open, barely tilting his head around the corner to see inside. A startled yelp instantly pierced the air, as the door bounced against the wall, and the Joker jumped back, one hand landing on his chest, his other holding on to the counter for dear life. White toothpaste ran down his equally pale chin, and was slathered all over his hand which held a toothbrush, leaving smudges on the bathroom counter. The man's chest was bare, little droplets of water still clinging to his skin as it fell from his wet hair. The towel on his hips, the only thing keeping him decent, slipped precariously low with his sudden reaction. The madman exhaled a deep breath, letting his hand fall from his heart.

“Jesus Bats! You scared me half to death! Careful, you could kill a man like that!” The Joker giggled, winking at the billionaire with his long lashes. Bruce's shoulders tensed in irritation, his fists clenching, as he took in what the madman had been up to. Steam billowed out of the room, the shower door thrown wide, puddles of water spread across the tiled floor. The Joker's hair was plastered to his pale face and clean skin, little droplets of water slowly slipping down his body, across the smooth plains of his chest. The bullet wounds an angry red against that pale expanse, the man's rosy nipples the only natural color gracing his skin.

“You sure know how to live, doll face.” The Joker muttered his green eyes flashing in excitement, turning back to the fogged up mirror, a large circle was wiped away in front of him. The madman stuck the toothbrush back into his mouth, brushing rather violently for a few seconds, before his eyes met Bruce's cold stare in the reflection. They gazed at each other for a full minute, the madman absently brushing ever so often, like he was waiting for the billionaire to say something. Then the Joker's eyes widened and his foam covered hand shot into the air as he bent down, spitting toothpaste into the sink he straightened up again, twirling the toothbrush in the air with a tight guilty smile.

“I uh, borrowed your toothbrush, hope you don't mind.” The maniac informed the playboy a grin breaking out onto his scarred face. He pivoted suddenly, his eyes glued to the billionaire as he hopped onto the counter, sticking the toothbrush back into his mouth. A large glob of frothy spit and foamed paste falling onto his chest, narrowly missing one of the bullet wounds. Bruce's eyes narrowed dangerously, he would have to burn that toothbrush, and the towel, he thought as the madman crossed his legs, leaning back on one hand, his hair brushing the mirror.

“Oh, don't worry. I don't have like cooties or anything!” The maniac stated, gesturing with the toothbrush. The man paused for a second, looking thoughtful.

“I mean. I had the clap once! But I, uh, hear that's cured.” The Joker said with wide eyes as he leaned forward a little, his face completely serious, sending Bruce a pointed look. Then he leaned back, mechanically stuck the toothbrush back into his mouth and started brushing his teeth vigorously, his eyes never leaving the playboy, his face devoid of emotion as he scrubbed. Bruce huffed out an irritated sigh, leaning against the door frame with crossed arms and a thin lipped scowl. The playboy shook his head in disbelief as the madman continued brushing his teeth, looking at Bruce like he was the weird one.

“Sometimes, I think god or something created you just to piss me off.” Bruce muttered in annoyance. He'd have to clean this entire mess up by himself. Alfred wasn't coming near the mansion. It wasn't like the playboy was lazy or couldn't do it, he... okay he was lazy. Being a billionaire had perks. He spent his energy on more important things than cleaning his bathroom. Like cleaning up Gotham, and keeping his things clean to begin with. Could that towel get any lower? Bruce had never noticed the man's thin happy trail before, the blonde hairs standing out against his bruised torso. The Joker laughed, rocking back on the counter before leaning back forward, farther then before, placing green eyes where Bruce's blue ones had been looking.

“Up here sweetheart.” The Joker giggled, tapping his cheek bone with one finger, a smirk gracing his lips, the billionaire's eyes glared into the madman's abnormally green ones. Then the maniac scoffed rolling eyes, straightening up quickly.

“And god didn't create me!” The Joker exclaimed, throwing his hands out a little, flicking white foam all over the mirror behind him.

“You did. So stop being a little baby and enjoy life a little!” The Joker laughed throwing his arms out, splattering the wall as well. Then he shoved the toothbrush back into his mouth with a laugh and a Cheshire grin, his eyes creased in merriment.

“Stop. Messing up. My bathroom. And no. I didn't create you. You were the Joker before I even knew you existed, let alone had taken Sionis' place.” Bruce corrected him, a sour frown on his handsome features at the accusation of creating such a monstrosity. The Joker laughed a dry note to his tone and he pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth again, leveling the playboy with a disapproving stare.

“Shows what you remember.” The Joker muttered with a dark chuckle, hopping off the counter he turned back to the mirror, sticking out his tongue he scrubbed it down with a childish awing sound getting saliva and foam all over his sink.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Bruce growled out in annoyance at the sound and the man's undertone. The maniac halted in mid brush dropping his hand.

“What does it. Sound! Like it means?” The Joker countered sending him a raised eyebrow in the mirror, stopping his scrubbing for only a moment, before returning to his work, this time without the awful sound. Bruce was about to send him a sarcastic reply when he stopped, unsure if that was the best course of action. If maybe, maybe, he could get something here, some snippet of the madman's past.

“Like I. Forgot. Something.” Bruce muttered back, his eyes narrowed taking in every move the Joker made in response. The madman's eyes widened comically and he pulled the toothbrush out, and slowly he brought his hands together in a slow wet clap, a sardonic smile gracing his lips.

“Well! You are. Definitely. The world's greatest detective! Damn you are good! See this is why I keep you around.” The Joker stated sarcastically, shoving his hands under the running water, rinsing them off. The towel around his waist slipping farther down, revealing the beginning curve of his butt cheeks, two little dimples resting just above the swells. Bruce's eyes snapped back up, when the Joker's eyes locked onto him. The madman held back a smirk, bending down a little, letting the towel slip farther as he filled a hand full of water. He sipped it, swishing it around a few times before spitting it back into the sink. He repeated the process a few more times, Bruce watching on in irritated silence as he tried to remember anything, any time he could have met the Joker before... before he was the Joker. Before he was this twisted creature, because he would have remembered someone as mad as this man. Said madman splashed his face with water, rinsing the foam down the sink. Then he straightened up, grabbing the towel at his waist he tore it off, wiping away the toothpaste that had fallen onto his chest, revealing way more then the billionaire wanted to see. Bruce averted his eyes as quickly as possible, but not before he caught sight of the blonde hairs connected to that happy trail. The Joker wiped his face and dropped the towel to the ground, rolling his eyes at the playboy's modesty. The madman ignored his indecency waltzing over to one of the cabinets. The maniac threw it open, scanning its contents quickly.

“Stay out of there.” Bruce growled his eyes snapping back up to glare at the back of the madman's head, refusing to let his eyes trail farther down, despite how the light caught on his skin. He didn't ever. Ever. Want to be able to imagine the Joker naked in any way shape or form, or any of his enemies for that matter. It seemed fate had a different idea. It was just something a little too personal not to affect the way he viewed them. Clothing was a shroud, being naked is a vulnerability that only humans felt. He supposed the Joker wasn't human after all, but he sure as hell looked it.

“Oh ho ho! The good stuff!” The Joker exclaimed excitedly snatching a bottle out of the cabinet. The madman spun towards the billionaire who kept his eyes firmly on the male's face. His distaste evident from the set of his jaw and the line of his lips. The madman held the container up to his face, one finger pointing to the product, a look of curiosity on his features.

“You know... this is made from baby fetuses right?” The Joker asked skeptically, “I mean I'm all for a dead child or two, or six, but I wouldn't take you as the type!” Bruce's eyes narrowed in irritation and he stepped forward reaching out to snatch the container from the man's hand.

“They're cultured, it's all created in a lab.” The billionaire snapped, swiping at the product but the Joker danced just out of his reach. A disbelieving look marring his face, his feet splashing in the puddles on the floor, his nipples hardening in the quickly chilling room, goosebumps breaking out across his skin as the billionaire stepped closer to him.

“Oh because lab babies are so much better! That makes. Perfect. Sense! It's okay! They're not real!”

“They aren't actually fetuses. Just put it. Back.” Bruce growled his voice slipping into a feral depth and the Joker shivered unconsciously, the action entirely noticeable with his lack of clothing, almost slipping in a puddle. The man righted himself, raising a finger to his pursed lips, tapping them a few times in feigned contemplation as he stepped back, a little hum leaving his lips.

“No. No. I don't, I don't think I will.” The madman stated with a minute shrug, sending Bruce an apologetic look taking a few more steps away from the larger male. Bruce took a menacing step forward, not willing to play games today. That cream was the only reason his didn't have any scars. The rest of his body wouldn't as well if he could bring himself to care about it, but he wasn't going to get harassed over the damn thing. The Joker unscrewed the lid and the billionaire scowled, stalking across the large bathroom towards the madman. The maniac's eyes snapped up, looking a little scared, and he held one hand towards the advancing male.

“Whoa whoa whoa! Calm down there tiger! I have the same stuff at home! Chill your boots toots! I'm just borrowing it! Look. I'll pay you back. Theeee, next time I rob a bank?! Huh?! It's not hard, won't take long at all!” The Joker suggested stepping back to keep up with the playboy's advance.

“No. You wont.” Bruce stated the Joker's back finally hitting the cold wall. The playboy tore the container out of the madman's hand with a scowl. Then it dawned on him, the full meaning of the Joker's words, and the billionaire couldn't stop himself from looking down. Taking in the madman's pale skin, the bruises and raw scratches... but that was it. The man barely had a blemish, a few thin fading scars could be barely made out.

One near his collarbone, where the madman had been hit with shrapnel from his own bomb at a heist Batman had crashed. It was the vigilante's fault the bomb had gone off when it had, even though it had been the Joker's plan all along, blow them both up or something ridiculous, he still wasn't able to stop it in time. A thin one on his arm, covered by new scratches, from falling on a downed henchman's knife during one of their many tussles. The billionaire remembered the blood, the Joker simply standing back up again, growing faint by the second.

Bruce's free hand reached out, tracing along the healed skin, the slice had been to the bone. Ending their little fight almost immediately, the madman collapsing from blood loss surprisingly quick. Harley had crashed in to take him away, preventing Batman from taking the man in. Bruce's eyes snapped down without really thinking, taking in the barely raised skin, the nasty scar they should have shared, but didn't. The Joker's was faded and pale, nearly matching his skin, while Bruce's stood out rather painfully when he undressed. The circular puncture wound lay just beside the maniac's hip bone, near the dusty blonde hairs below, Bruce refusing to recognize anything that lay beyond them. The billionaire's eyes snapped up, his steely blue meeting wide pools of acidic green. The Joker watched him in silence, his lips parted, blanketed with scars. Bruce opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, but he felt he had to say something. The surprise that the Joker actually cared about scars shocked him.

All that came out however was a loud groan of pain as the Joker's knee slammed straight into his balls, pain immediately webbed into his stomach and he curled in on himself as it stabbed through his insides. The madman quickly slipped past him, the heat of his body rushing away as the maniac dashed from the room, snatching the container from Bruce's uncaring hand as he went.

“Fuck.” Bruce hissed, leaning against the counter as he tried to breath past the pain. There was a reason he wore a cup. Extra cushioned cup. He slammed a fist into the counter, willing the new pain to drown out the other. Finally he could take in oxygen and Bruce winced straightening up a little. A vicious scowl cut across his features, and he stiffly took a step towards the door wincing in pain. He eventually stalked out of the bathroom ignoring the cold puddles of water he stepped through on the way. He exited into the bedroom, his muscles tense, anger riding the pain coursing through his body. The Joker sat innocently on the bed, near his blood stain. Sitting cross legged, standing out starkly against the darker theme of the playboy's bedroom. The lid of the container lay across the room, as if the man had tossed it carelessly away from him, before he started using the cream. Bruce growled darkly, swiftly closing the space between them, the madman didn't even bother to look up at his approach, simply continued to smear the cream over his scratches. The billionaire gritted his teeth and raised a fist, ready to slam the man's face into the floor, returning the favor, pain for pain. He reached the edge of the bed, his fist swinging down and then he froze. A cold digging met his throat.

“Ah ah ah. I tend to get what I want. And I'd prefer not to kill you over something as trivial as a four thousand dollar bottle of cream! Think of the dead children.” The Joker giggled pressing the scalpel into Bruce's skin, breaking the surface, a thin trail of blood slipping down his neck and into his shirt. The billionaire gritted his teeth, he'd forgotten about that, where the man stashed it was beyond him. They stared at each other for a few seconds then Bruce's hand snapped up, easily disarming the madman he turned the tables, placing the scalpel against the Joker's neck instead. The madman let out an excited squeal of joy, throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“I keep forgetting you're not just a pretty face.” The Joker muttered, eyeing the playboy lewdly.

“Lucky for Gotham, I'm not.” Bruce replied, he wanted to press the scalpel closer as the madman had, but he wasn't sure if the maniac wouldn't press harder against it just to see Bruce's terrified face. Suddenly the phone in his pocket rang, and the billionaire removed the small blade from the Joker's skin, pulling out his phone with the other hand. He leveled the madman with a stern look, silently reminding him to stay put.

“Hello?” Bruce answered, keeping his eyes on the now humming male. The Joker took the opportunity to smear some more cream onto his skin, gently covering the cuts he had received some point the night before.

“Bruce. I think you need to check out the news. Gotham's in a panic. I guess they couldn't keep this quiet forever.” Barbara's voice came over the phone and Bruce's eyes glanced towards the Television. He gave the madman one last glance before he made his way to the coffee table, snatching the remote up he switched on the television. Doctor Mengele was on the screen informing Gotham of the breakouts that had occurred last night due to Bruce Wayne's interference. She recounted his purchase of the asylum from under the current owner's noses, his break in and destruction of their security systems. They didn't have any footage of him on the scene though, which was only slightly helpful. He could easily play this off as one of the fake Wayne's running around Gotham, but it would be difficult to spin how the fake Bruce got a hold of his accounts. Something warm and wet ran across his neck and Bruce's head snapped around in fear, worried he'd find the madman licking his blood, just realizing the Joker had moved closer to him. The maniac was on his knees on the mattress, his face close to Bruce's. The man ran one cream slicked finger over the new cut in his skin, and the playboy held back a sigh of relief as the madman met his eyes, giving him a reassuring wink. Bruce's eyes narrowed, as the maniac dipped a finger back in, running them along his cheek again, covering the nail marks with the solution.

“Bruce?” Barbara asked quietly over the phone, catching the billionaire's attention.

“This isn't as bad as it seems.” Bruce stated, tearing his eyes back to the screen, ignoring the maniac beside him in favor of the television. Not wanting the scalpel anywhere near the madman he tossed it across the room, letting it land onto the dresser, it slid across almost falling behind the furniture.

“Maybe but, I also have some news on the clones or whatever they are.” Barbara informed him as the madman delicately covered another scratch on his cheek.

“They're not clones.” Bruce replied, swatting halfheartedly at the male's fingers, when the maniac got a little too close to his lips. The madman huffed and the bed shifted, the Joker going back to treating his own wounds. Which reminded Bruce, he needed to wrap the man's bullet wounds back up, it was obvious the madman didn't care much about them.

“Well you're right about that one. They did have surgical marks across their bodies, some major cosmetic surgery, and I mean major. But that's not where it stops. They've been genetically altered.”

“What do you mean?” Bruce asked, his eyes slipping from the television to watch the Joker hum a little tune while he covered his body in the cream, gently covering each and every scratch.

“I was able to pull up their previous identities, but their previous DNA. Doesn't match the samples that were taken from their bodies.” Barbara said, as the playboy's eyes narrowed at the madman.

“Is genetic altering even. Possible?” Bruce asked distractedly his voice dropping into a darker tone, his hand shooting out, stopping the The Joker from smothering his still raw and bloody bullet wound with the stuff. Green eyes shot up glaring angrily at the billionaire who stared back unblinking, his grip tightening on the man's wrist in warning, before he tossing it away from the male's wound with a stern look. The madman scowled down at the bullet hole before gazing up at the billionaire, pouting with discontent.

“No.” Bruce growled out with finality and the maniac rolled his eyes in exasperation, reluctantly moving on to the smaller cuts with a grumbled annoyance.

“What?” Barbara asked startled, taken back at the man's suddenly stern tone.

“Not you.” The playboy corrected, turning his gaze back to the television, yet still keeping an eye on the man beside him.

“Ooookay...” Barbara muttered, obviously still confused. There was a scuffling sound and the poorly oiled computer chair in the Bat Cave squeaked.

“Is he with the Joker?” Tim's voice asked suddenly and Barbara blanched.

“Wha-What?!” Bruce winced as the sound was directed into his ear drum.

“It's a long story. For later. Is genetic altering possible?” Bruce insisted they move on, and it took the girl a few seconds to compose herself.

“Um, I... Not that, I know of. The last known research into the subject was during World War II, the Nazi's lead scientist and doctor was studying the subject. Along with many other morbid things.” Barbara informed him and Bruce bit back a groan, closing his eyes, why hadn't he seen it. It was rather blatantly staring him in the face.

“Let me guess. The doctor's last name was Mengele?” The playboy replied, running a hand through his hair, noticing the Joker's unblinking eyes on him. He dropped his hand back down, unwilling to show the madman any more of his more human side. To The Joker he was Batman, nothing more, nothing less. The maniac's eyes narrowed for a second, and Bruce pretended not to notice the staring.

“Yeah. It was. Which is also – .” The madman's hand slowly crept nonchalantly towards the bullet wounds.

“The name of the. Asylum. Doctor.” Bruce finished for her, trailing off with irritation as he snatched the Joker's hand away from his bullet wound yet again. The madman glared up at him and Bruce glared right back.

“Yeah, it's weird though, I did some research the guy never had any kids. He was too obsessed with his work to get a family.” Finally the madman gave an angry huff ripping his hand away from Bruce's he immediately tried again, the billionaire easily snatching the hand back away.

“That is strange, maybe a lover? Extended. Family?” Bruce grunted distractedly, battling the Joker's stubbornness with his free hand, surprised at the strength the male still had, swatting and tugging the maniac's hands away from the wounds. Finally the madman gave up, weakly swatting at the playboy's hands with a huff of resignation. He instead turned his attention elsewhere, trying to reach the cuts on his back, which the maniac didn't have any problem achieving. His pale arms easily wrapping around his body to cover the scratches. His head turned back, the green hair blocking his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Barbara asked with concern.

“I'm fine.” Bruce stated, if the maniac tried one more time he would just knock the man out. He didn't feel like games today, or any day for that matter.

“Anyways, I also checked that out, there are no records of a lover, not that it isn't possible, but the entire family line was hunted down after the war. Mengele didn't just do experiments on Jews, he used Germans as well. The country didn't take too kindly when that fact became public.”

“I wouldn't doubt it.” Bruce muttered, narrowing his eyes as the Joker's kept flicking to him, despite needing to see his backside.

“I'll do some more research, see what – .”

“That's enough.” The billionaire growled out cutting Barbara off, snatching the container away from the Joker's hand when the man succeeded in getting a bit of the cream on his bullet wound.

“What?” Barbara stuttered.

“Oh what?! It's not like you can't afford it, big boy!” The Joker exclaimed with an exasperated huff, running a hand through his still drying hair to get it out of his face, slicking it back.

“Oh my god! Is that really the Joker?!” Barbara gasped through the phone and the playboy gritted his teeth.

“That's not the point and you know it.” Bruce replied deeply, easily taking on the Batman tone with the male.

“How is the Joker not the point?”

“Oh come on! Like it really matters! I'm not going to die from this you man child!” The Joker jumped up throwing his arms into the air in exasperation, he slowly backed away from Bruce.

“You're wounds need proper treatment, antibiotics. Not facial cream.” Bruce insisted sternly, and the Joker laughed a little turning his back to the man he took a few more steps towards the edge of the room, near the window. Coming up next to a little side table, he walked past it a bit, staring out of the glass for a few seconds.

“Whoops.” The Joker gasped, before slapping a hand into the expensive lamp, watching it fly off the side table and shatter loudly onto the floor.

“Joker.” Bruce growled dangerously and the madman looked up at him with innocent eyes.

“Oh my god. It really is the Joker. Bruce. What are you doing? He's dangerous! You're not Batman!” Barbara insisted from over the phone, fear and concern in her voice, but mostly fear. Fear of the man that had placed her in the wheelchair.

“Sorry! Must have slipped.” The madman suggested, pivoting suddenly with a whistled tune, he waltzed towards the other side of the window, nearing the other matching lamp.

“Alright stop!” Bruce shouted before the man could break the second one. He didn't want to find two of them, they were expensive enough as a singular purchase.

“Look, you can put this shit on.” The playboy held up the cream, “After. The antibiotic. And for fuck sake put some clothes on.” Bruce snapped with an angry scowl. Silence reigned on the other side of the phone as the billionaire's eyes narrowed. The Joker ran one finger up the side of the lamp, catching on the rimmed surfaces he let it tip a little with pursed lips. Then he let it go, Bruce held his breath as it fell back onto the table, apparently the madman had made up his mind. Robin's voice broke over the phone, asking Barbara what happened, but the girl remained silent.

“Fine.” The Joker conceded scratching his arm and glancing down at his nakedness, taking in his equally pale manhood dusted with blonde hairs. Bruce's eyes followed the line of sight, then he quickly turned towards the television, trying to get the man's full form out of his head. The maniac needed to eat more. He could see all of his ribs. Maybe Bruce would shove food violently down his throat. Helping the man. Wasn't that something the Joker hated? Sounded like a good torture. It took Bruce a second to realize he was still on the phone.

“Hold on Barbara.” The billionaire stated, moving over to a set of drawers he opened the top one, pulling out a wireless earpiece. The Joker meanwhile had walked back around the bed, his hands behind his back. Inspecting the rather large blood stain he had left on Bruce's mattress. The playboy switched the piece on and tuned the phone to their encrypted wireless signal. He put the phone back into his pocket.

“Can you hear me?” Bruce asked Barbara just as the Joker reached his side of the bed, wandering over to him.

“Um, yeah?” Barbara muttered quietly, Tim still pleading for an update.

“Good.” The playboy stated just as the Joker placed the tips of his fingers on the edge of his shoulder.

“You have anything else for me?” The madman's hand trailed across his back.

“Anything on the Joker?” The fingers drummed onto his other shoulder when his name was spoken, then the hand slid off and Bruce ignored it.

“Has my wannabes done anything new? Strange? Anything of note?” Bruce asked shifting his weight, his eyes sliding onto the Joker, who huffed in boredom falling back onto the bed. The playboy averted his eyes again, ignoring how a certain part bounced more than the rest.

“Not really. I hear from the police chat that they mutter a lot, apparently they're not all there. And I thought you had the Joker wi– .”

“I do. But there should be more of them. If Hush wants Gotham he needs to control both ends. He has a partner in this. It could be the doctor, but then they'd have to find some way to control their Joker themselves. I'm guessing they made quite a few of them. Maybe they're waiting around to see which one is left standing. Or maybe they had a better success with one, over the others. It could be a roulette, one is their main man.” Bruce proposed and the Joker sighed exaggeratedly, slamming his head back against the bed over and over again, obviously getting bored.

“Even so... What if the real Joker was the one left standing?” Barbara asked thoughtfully, finally getting them somewhere.

“I don't think they'd risk that.” Bruce stated slowly, knowing where she was going with that train of thought.

“You think they have them bugged? If they have tracking devices I might be able to pin them down. If I had lunatics running around that's what I'd do.” Barbara suggested, and Bruce nodded his head in agreement.

“Yeah, see if you can find anything. I'll do some digging as well. If I have time...” The playboy trailed off glancing over at the maniac who was swishing his legs back and forth over the edge of the bed, and his train of thought died instantly. What if... They tagged the Joker as well? Bruce's eyes narrowed in on the man.

“Call me if anything comes up.” Bruce muttered halfheartedly shutting the call down with a touch to his ear. It took the madman a second to notice the playboy's calculating gaze on him. Slowly the man's legs stopped their merry twitching, and the madman narrowed his eyes back at the billionaire. There was an awkward silence between them for a full minute.

“What...” The Joker asked slowly, raising a skeptical eyebrow, one had itching at one of his many cuts. Bruce didn't answer, wondering the best way to approach this subject. He didn't have the equipment to scan the man for a tracking device here. All of that was located in the Batcave and the madman wasn't going anywhere near that place. So the next best thing... The Joker sat up, cocking his head to the side.

“Seriously. What?! I didn't do it! Whatever it was you're giving me that look for. It wasn't me! Pinky swear!” The Joker insisted throwing his arms out in another surrendering gesture. Bruce cleared his throat, guess it was a good thing the man wasn't shy.

“I need to search you.” Bruce stated evenly and the Joker's eyebrows raised, asking the billionaire if he were serious right now.

“What you think I hid a knife in my ass? You can check if you want.” The Joker offered wagging his eyebrows while leaning back on his hands.

“Not unless you were anally probed at Arkham.”

“Well it is standard procedure.” The madman sang, with a little giggle at the end.

“While knocked out.”

“Not! Standard procedure.” The Joker punctuated with a fist through the air.

“Well, uh, let's see. Not, that. I. Recall. Get it. That I recall.” The madman laughed, wincing a little as the pain meds he had been given that morning continued to wear off. He pressed a hand against his new bullet wound and it came away with some blood.

“Stand up.” Bruce ordered and the madman blanched a little, followed by a small shocked pause.

“Wait are you serious?! Isn't this a little fast? I do prefer dinner and a movie first. Preferably a. Horror movie. I like when the people die. Horrible. Deaths! Gets my brain churning out new ideas, ya know?” The Joker rambled, his eyes widening as the playboy stepped closer to him.

“Up.” Bruce ordered again, slipping into the deeper demanding growl.

“Alright alright! Jeez. Give a man some time to prepare. At least start with some foreplay.” The Joker insisted as he moved off the bed to stand almost awkwardly in front of the billionaire.

“Hopefully it won't come to that.” Bruce stated, reaching forward he picked up the madman's arm, starting at the wrist. He slowly scanned for any signs of a surgical cut, running his fingers down the man's surprisingly soft skin, looking for any abnormal bumps.

“Oh... Oh! You think they... I guess they could have.” The Joker muttered quietly as Bruce inspected his arm delicately, gently. His fingers trailing softly across his abused skin. Bruce worked his way up the man's arm in silence, noticing the way his hidden muscles slid under the skin. How his bone structure and muscle mass wasn't quite as scrawny as he first appeared.

“Tell me what happened last night.” The playboy demanded as he reached the man's shoulder, he hadn't realized the man actually had birthmarks on his body, they were so minutely discolored they were almost impossible to see. Dotting his skin every once in awhile with their presence.

“Uh, what?” The Joker exhaled, a little distracted. Bruce shifted his feet, moving in closer to him.

“How did you get these? I need to know what you were injured by.” The billionaire insisted resisting the urge to run his hand along the man's distinctive collar bone. It was surprising, he expected to see skinny bones and underdeveloped muscles, sure the man could use some food, but he was a lot more sturdy looking then Bruce would have expected. Less petite, less scrawny. He was more athletic, with lithe muscles and strong frame. The billionaire bet with a proper diet the man could end up throwing some really mean punches. Could fill out a little more, he'd never be as bulky as Bruce wouldn't though.

“Oh right. Well let's see. Nails, teeth, boots, branches, rocks, bullets, a knife or two, batons, Bats, you know the usual.” The Joker smirked as Bruce reached his bruised abdomen, quickly testing anything that looked suspiciously like a knife wound. He doubted they would place it somewhere the madman would notice however. The maniac's abs flexed under his touch, the muscles sliding under his hand as if the male was unsure if he should tense or relax. The playboy adamantly refused to look farther down, instead placing both hands on the man's shoulders and flipping the Joker around.

The madman was quite as Bruce inspected every cut on his back, the billionaire's slightly calloused hands sliding across his skin gently. Something he wasn't used to. Gentle wasn't in his repertoire, in his life. Bruce watched the man's muscles tense under his scrutiny, sometimes sliding with a hidden power under his hand. No wonder the man held quite a punch. He wasn't as sinewy as one would expect.

The man's spine was noticeable, but not in an unhealthy way, it didn't stick out. It simply rested just under the skin, making itself known in little bumps down his back. Bruce absentmindedly ran a hand down each bump and the Joker shivered beneath his touch. A breathy exhale leaving his lips, audible in the silence of the room, and there it was. Bruce snapped out of his musings as his hand moved over, running across a rather deep cut. For such a short scratch. The playboy dropped to his knees ignoring the dimples just above the man's ass, the way it swelled smoothly, creased perfectly. He avoided looking down farther at all, instead he focused on the cut, pressing his fingers into the man's flesh with a little more pressure.

“Shit.” The Joker whispered dangerously, taking in a shaky breath as something shifted under his skin, under Bruce's fingers. “Get it out. Get it out!”

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Whew. I was going to finish the my idea for the rest of the “day” in Bat World. But then I was like damn. 27 pages... Maybe I should like. Make it a cliffhanger or something. Buwahahaha. Then I scrolled back up and was like... hmmm here works.

So he's a little naked. I didn't want to put TOO much emphasis on that fact, because how hot the Joker is isn't why Bats will end up with him, but it's definitely something the Joker would do. So Bruce didn't really pay attention much, so I wasn't going to either. Just remember he's super sexy. Growl. Again. Apologies for the whole Robin spiel. Maybe later when this is finished, and after my Treasure Planet fanfiction. (maybe) I'll write one with Robin. Again no promises.


	9. Ticking to the Rhythm of a Time Bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce deals with a bugged Joker, but we all know hes crazy... Of course... crazy. Right?

Who's excited? I'M EXCITED! So I've got the next chapter written. I thought I'd split it... because. You get it sooner of course and I get more time to correct shit. Woooooo The next chapter... is going to be awesome. Just so you know.

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

Shattered Identities

Chapter 9

Ticking to the Rhythm of a Time Bomb

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

Bruce probed the little lump again, knelt on the ground behind the madman. He couldn't believe they actually put a tracking device in the maniac.

“We will, let's go back down stai – .” The billionaire soothed the panicking male, The Joker's eyes wild, a caged animal in his own skin.

“No!” The Joker snapped turning around, and Bruce jerked back immediately in order to avoid his nether region, standing up as quickly as possible.

“Get it out. Now!” The madman cried out, his hands curling around his back clawing at the cut, scratching up his skin, leaving raw bloody lines behind.

“Get it out of me! Get it. Fucking I'll get it out!” Bruce's hands shot forward restraining the man from scratching his own skin into a raw bloody mess. The Joker thrashed and fought against him, pulling, jerking and squirming in his hold, his eyes panicked, not even thinking to resort to anything more then trying to get away.

“We will! Just stop! Stop!” The billionaire demanded, his voice deepening again, his hold tightening, bruising. He gave the Joker a violent shake, and kept shaking him until his whole body relaxed, falling into the movement, and the madman's eyes finally focused on his face. His chest swiftly rising and falling. Bruce could see the fear in his eyes, the fear he hides, so deep beneath the insanity, fear of something more than death.

“I will. Right now! We will. But they already know you're here. There's no need to rush this! Let me do this right.” Bruce tried to reason with him, but there was no reasoning with madness.

“Easy for you to say! For all we know they could have a contingency plan! Pop! Goes the Joker!” The madman snarled at him, flaring his fingers in emphasis. Then he ripped at his wrists again, searching for freedom.

“It's not going to be a bomb.” Bruce stated exasperatedly, trying to reel in the madman's hands, despite the male's surprising strength. The Joker stopped abruptly his vibrant mad eyes locking on the billionaire's.

“Nazi doctor? Right?! Doesn't need to be a fucking bomb!” The Joker hissed, stepping closer to him, only a few inches shorter than the billionaire. Bruce simply stared back, unsure of what to say, the man could be right...

“Get it. Out of me.” The madman whispered darkly, threateningly, his eyes narrowing. If Bruce didn't do it, he would. He would claw it out. In one mass of bloody flesh. The playboy needed to do something and do it soon.

“Fine!” Bruce caved, ripping his eyes away from the Joker for two seconds, as he thought up a plan.

“Give me twenty seconds. Twenty. That's all I'm asking. Don't touch it. Don't poke it. Don't. Scratch. At it.” The billionaire asked his eyes boring into the maniac's own, glared back at him. Bruce's eyes flickered purposefully towards the scalpel on the dresser and The Joker growled, following his gaze.

“Fine. Twenty seconds. Starting now.” The finally madman conceded, but Bruce was already dashing across the room. Snatching up the scalpel he ran into the bathroom, almost slipping on the wet tiles as he skidded across the floor. He ripped open a cabinet, pulling out his personal first aid kit. He opened it up, snagging a bottle of antiseptic he sterilized the scalpel over the sink, recapping it as he dashed back into the bedroom, taking a fresh towel with him.

“two, one.” The Joker finished just as Bruce threw the items on the bed, snatching the madman's hand away from the cut before he could do himself any more harm. The playboy tightened his grip in annoyance, he should just knock the man out and be done with it. This was way more work then it was worth.

“On the bed.” Bruce demanded, irritated that he even had to play this game with the maniac.

“No. It's been twen – .” The Joker started defiantly, but was cut short, the playboy's had shooting out to grip the man's slender neck, stepping closer to tower over him. Their faces inches apart, the man's pulse racing beneath the billionaire's fingers.

“Get on. The fucking bed.” Bruce growled quietly, maneuvering the maniac around, so his back was facing the bed. He shoved the madman back almost violently with the hold on his throat. The Joker flew backwards onto the bed, all the breath leaving him in a sudden rush as he stared up at the pissed off male towering above him. The steely blue eyes darkening like a thunder storm.

“On your stomach.” Bruce demanded darkly, and the Joker only stared up at him with wide eyes, unable to breathe, let alone move. Taking in the male's powerful figure, stern features, and commanding eyes.

“This isn't a game!” The playboy growled, leaning forward, forcing the Joker to lean back. He placed either hand beside the Joker's.

“I thought you wanted the chip out of you. I guess I was wrong. I should just let you rip it out.” The playboy stated sardonically, his tone as dark and condescending as Batman's. The Joker had seen snippets of the man under the mask, but this, this was Batman, this was his Bats. Unmasked and bare but still as pent up and furious, powerful, as usual. The Joker pulled his feet onto the bed, laying down on face down without a word, without a single blink of his eyelids, those orbs staring transfixed onto Bruce's.

“Hold still.” The billionaire demanded, placing the towel against the Joker's side. Uncapping the bottle of antiseptic again he doused the old incision, sterilizing the cut, ignoring the new welts the man had left along his own skin. He knelt down next to the bed, needing to get closer to the wound, but the madman was too far away from the edge of the mattress. Bruce stared irritably for a few seconds, debating his options. Then he placed a hand around the Joker's other side tugging the man none to gently closer to the edge, not even bothering to ask him to move. He decided it would be useless.

The maniac made a small complaint as he was man handled, the rough material of the bare mattress scraping along his wounds, then he settled back in without a word. Bruce leaned over the man, getting close to the old incision, he placed the scalpel against the madman's already scored skin.

“This is going to hurt.” The playboy muttered, pausing for a second, he wasn't used to cutting into people. Sure he was used to blood. Even seeing broken bones, but not delicate slices, nothing like this controlled infliction of pain.

“Oh spare me you're, heroic justice!” The Joker hissed and Bruce scowled at the man breaking through the healing wound without a second thought. He wasn't able to ignore how the man's muscles twitched under his ivory skin, tensing with the pain, despite the man's lack of acknowledgment to the sting. Blood quickly welled, running down the pale flesh, starkly reminding Bruce of the night before, the pale face, blue lips and glassy eyes all accentuated by the same crimson. Everywhere, blood everywhere. He squashed the memory down and with a little coaxing the tracking chip slid out of the Joker's skin. Bruce snatched it up quickly, afraid he'd lose it again in the streaming blood, dropping it to the bed on the other side of the madman. He quickly grabbed a gauze applying pressure against the wound. Hoping to stop some of the bleeding before he sewed it up. The maniac's shoulder blade pressed against his skin as the Joker reached back, delicately picking up the tracking device.

“Don't.” Bruce warned distractedly, checking the blood flow and applying more pressure, but it didn't seem like the madman had listened to him. The Joker continued to stare at the chip like it was an insect that needed to be squashed. Destroyed and obliterated off the face of the earth.

“Joker!” The playboy hissed more sternly finally getting the maniac's attention.

“I know what you're thinking. Don't! We can use it against them.” Bruce insisted, the pressure he was applying growing a little too heavy as he glared at the uncaring madman.

“I'd rather never see it again.” The Joker growled, inspecting the tiny device.

“We can use it. They already know you're here. Let them keep thinking they're a step ahead of us.” Bruce pressed, but the Joker ignored him yet again, parting his lips he moved the chip towards his teeth, the only viable weapon in range. The playboy growled, digging his finger into the wound, the gauze keeping him from contaminating the area. The Joker gasped and jerked in pain, his muscles spasming at the sudden shock. He let out a feral growl, slashing a clawed hand at Bruce's face, who simply dodged the attack, jerking backwards.

He released the pressure quickly, lifting the gauze he snatched up the still open bottle of antiseptic, just as the Joker snarled viciously at him, his bending as he attempted to move closer. Bruce dumped the liquid onto the wound and the Joker hissed in pain, his muscles rigid along his back, bulging against the pale abused flesh. The madman dropped the chip, digging his fingernails into the bare mattress, while he pressed his forehead against the bed. Bruce swiped the chip back tucking it into his sweat's pocket as the Joker took in deep breaths, breathing through the pain.

Slowly the madman's back started shaking, and laughter crept into the room, eventually echoing off the walls. Bruce ignored his insanity, pulling out a needle and some catgut thread to stitch the maniac's wound up. He threaded the needle while the Joker continued laughing hysterically, rolling a little on his side to clutch his abdomen which spasmed with each giggle. The playboy placed a hand on the madman's back, forcing him back onto his stomach when he twisted out of his reach. He got the needle close to the male's skin but stopped, unwilling to attempt sewing the idiot up while he was giggling like a lunatic.

“Hold still.” Bruce insisted glaring at the madman who turned to him with a giant grin across his scarred face.

“You.” The Joker giggled, “really are something Bats. Oh ho.” The madman licked his lips, suddenly calming down, like he wanted to have a chat with Bruce.

“If I were stuck on a deserted island. You! Are what I'd bring! Fuck the mp3 player or hunting knife normal people choose. I'd! Choose you.” The Joker informed the billionaire smugly before settling down into the bed again, laying his head on his crossed arms. His head remained tilted slightly, keeping Bruce in his sights.

“Because Tarzan.” The Joker whispered, his eyes half lidded as he watched Bruce concentrate, ignoring the sting of the needle through his skin.

“Life is so. Beautiful. With you around. All flashing lights! And broken dreams!” Bruce let the man ramble, carefully threading the second stitch with the fish hook needle.

“That's morbid.” The playboy muttered, moving to the next stitch, not really listening to the man.

“To you maybe. I think it's interesting. What fun is life! If you get everything you want?! If there's no opposition, no working for it? No people to mow down when they get in your way!” The Joker giggled at the prospect, Bruce gritted his teeth, leveling the Joker with a heated stare.

“Don't give me that look. You mow people down too, they just don't stay there. Which is entirely counter productive. I might add. I mean, you've broke bones on one of my henchmen on several different occasions. He's been in Blackgate like, fifteen times... really counter productive.” The Joker complained with a yawn, his eyes closing to half mast. His chin turned to rest against his shoulder. His green irises peering eerily past his dark lashes to quietly watch Bruce work, for once ignoring that his nemesis, or obsession, didn't reply back.

The playboy made quick work of closing up the wound, each stitch created slowly, pulling the split skin back together. It wasn't amazing work, but the catgut would ensure the man didn't get any major scars. Which ironically he seemed to care about. Bruce pulled his eyes away from the male's pale back as he gently wiped the wound down. The billionaire gritted his teeth in irritation when he found the madman almost asleep, his breathing slowly evening out, despite the chill in the air, and the maniac's lack of clothing. Bruce's lips thinned as he poured more antiseptic onto the wound, hoping the sting would awaken the madman. It didn't, and he scowled.

“Hey.” Bruce called to him in annoyance, cleaning away the antiseptic a little roughly, the Joker's body shifting a little under the pressure. He should just let the man sleep, it would be more beneficial to the detective if the maniac was out of his hair for awhile, but it pissed him off to no end that the maniac had use his drugs to stay awake. Then was simply allowed to crash when they wore off! No. If the Joker wanted to stay awake, Bruce would make sure he stayed awake.

“Hey!” The playboy shouted grabbing a fist full of the madman's damp green hair rather roughly. He pulled the maniac's head off the bed a little, and those startling green eyes slowly crept open to gaze at him tiredly, annoyance barely making it through his exhaustion.

“You wanted to stay awake. So wake up.” Bruce growled out, tightening his grip on the man's hair. The Joker groaned quietly, his eyes closing against the tug.

“Whatever you say princess.” The Joker whispered, pulling his fully open. Bruce tossed his head into the bed and stood up, briefly making his way to the dresser. He plucked the cream he had left there off the surface. Making his way back over, all the while under the Joker's burning stare. He knelt back down next to the bed, dipping his finger in the substance, and the Joker suddenly looked away. His fingers tightening on the bed before the playboy had even touched his skin. Bruce paused taking in the madman's tense muscles that were shifting under his skin, stretching against their confinement as his grip tightened. His jaw was tense, almost as if he was gritting his teeth. The billionaire watched him carefully as he gently smeared the cream against the man's sanitized wound. The Joker's head tilted forward, pressing his forehead into the mattress as his back vibrated once, twice, slowly building from a low chuckle into a mad dark laughter that quietly filled the room.

“What's so funny?” Bruce had to asked, placing a large bandage over the wound and sealing it to his skin.

“You. Us. The world.” The Joker chuckled in amusement, “It's all so fucking hilarious!” The madman's muscles slid along his back as he propped himself up on his elbows. Bruce frowned then stood up. Making a decision he placed the cream on the bed, making his way into his walk into closet. The Joker's vivid eyes trailed after him as he came back out with a t-shirt and sweat pants. He threw the pants on the bed next to the maniac. Then stood awkwardly by the bed, gazing down at the madman, while at the same time trying not to look at that creamy expanse of skin. The Joker raised his eyebrow at him, settling back down onto crossed arms. Watching the man with a delighted smile. Bruce cleared his throat lifting the shirt in his hands up.

“Turn over.” The playboy stated, the awkwardness and reluctance slipping into his voice. The Joker simply smirked at him, pressing his lips against his bicep, he gazed up at the billionaire in amusement.

“Turn. Over.” Bruce snarled out, his grip crumpling the shirt as it tightened in irritation. They stared at each other for a full minute. The Joker taking in the billionaire's ruffled state, tense broad muscular shoulders, the way his forearm bulged with the act of crushing that helpless shirt in his powerful hand. The veins that peaked out of his light skin and trailed down his arm. The way his neck thickened as his muscles tensed, his lips thinned, his beautiful steely blue eyes narrowed, curtained by thick lashes. Suddenly the billionaire sighed, all that glorious muscle relaxing with that simple breath. His blue eyes turned towards the ground, closing briefly. When they looked back up they were tired, yet determined.

“Fine.” Bruce stated closing the small distance between them, he ignored the Joker's raised eyebrow as he reached down. He placed his hand on the madman's shoulder, the maniac's breath ghosting against his fingers, while he slid the other underneath the male's hip. Bruce could feel the Joker's breath quicken as his hand slid under his body, just enough though. Just enough to flip the man. Bruce pulled up on the maniac easily moving the male off the bed and onto his side when the Joker consented to the movement. Bruce's palms twisted around on his skin to shove him the rest of the way onto the bed, ignoring how soft that skin was.

The madman's back crushed the pants beneath him as he giggled up at Bruce's stern face, laughing at how his eyes avoided his nether region at all cost. The billionaire leaned over the bed, his jaw tense in annoyance at how irritating this whole thing was. It was almost humiliating being forced to man handle the maniac. Bruce thought about sliding the male closer to the edge but didn't want to go through that process. Instead he tossed the shirt across the Joker's lower region, covering him up. The madman brought his hands up behind his head as he reclined backwards, revealing dirt blond hair growing subtly under his armpits. His Cheshire grin beamed up at the billionaire as said man sat on the bed next to the maniac.

Bruce stubbornly ignored the pale male, instead transferring the first aid kit to settle in front of him. The playboy grimaced at how raw and angry the madman's new bullet wound looked, blood ever so slowly weeping from the wound. The Joker only slightly winced when Bruce haphazardly dumped antiseptic over it, almost as if he was hoping to cause the madman some discomfort, yet his face remained dull and emotionless. He took a gauze and blotted the closing hole, wiping away any infection that might have started up.

Bruce concentrated on the task of cleaning the wound, not even realizing that the Joker had stopped chuckling and was now just gazing at him. Quietly watching the billionaire's intense attention on his injury. Eventually, after a few minutes, Bruce decided the wound was as good as it was going to get and placed a large gauze pad over the red blotch. He switched to the older wound, that was almost black in color, but still looked a little red around the edges. The hospital took care of it, but there was no telling how much attention the wound had received at Arkham.

“You know. Harley does the same thing.” The Joker whispered as Bruce cleaned the older wound, licking his lips.

“But, it's different. More... Obsessed. Like, she's afraid I'll break.” The madman admitted quietly, watching Bruce gently clear the bullet hole.

“And kill her?” The billionaire added sarcastically, finishing up the cleaning. There was a long silence as Bruce covered the wound in the stupid cream he had promised the madman. He refused to put it on the other one though. It was still too new.

“Maybe.” The Joker muttered distractedly, far away, as he watched the playboy hold true to his promise.

“Sit up.” Bruce demanded, picking up the bandaging and unwrapping the end, but the maniac remained where he was.

“I'm not playing this game. Sit. Up.” The billionaire growled, his eyes boring into the Joker's own. Minutes ticked by slowly, neither of them moving.

“Fine.” Bruce muttered standing up. He pivoted around, walking leisurely towards the exit of his bedroom.

“Alright! Alright!” The Joker snapped the second he knew Bruce's intentions. Sitting up as quickly as he could, one hand held out towards the playboy's retreating form. Bruce paused in his step, glancing over his shoulder at the man who had finally followed his order. He turned his head back to the door, letting a small smirk grace his lips before he crushed it, spinning back around with a blank look on his face. He crossed the small distance he had achieved and picked up the bandaging again. Peeling the end away from the rest he placed it against the pad on the man's newest wound, ignoring the irritated glare the Joker sent at him.

“You can't blame a man for trying.” The Joker insisted, raising his arms to allow the billionaire to start the wrapping process. There was nothing wrong with the madman's attempts to receive the playboy's attention, his touch.

“Actually I can.” Bruce muttered as he trailed the bandage around the maniac's back.

“Actually. You can't.” The Joker countered him rather forcefully.

“You're Gotham's hottest male for how many years running?” The Joker scoffed, and Bruce ignored him. Leaning around the man, stringing the bandage over his bruised side.

“And hottest male. In the entire United States... How often?” The Joker's breath ghosted against the playboy's check as he switched holds on the gauze roll and the end, bringing it around the madman's side. The Joker leaned closer, letting his lips trail against Bruce's ear and the playboy held back a shiver... of disgust, he swallowed hard, ignoring the reaction.

“You really can't. Ever.” The Joker insisted, his lips brushing against the billionaire's skin. Bruce held steady, squashing down the urge to jerk away from the maniac. He finally was allowed to pull back, wrapping the bandage back around to cover the starting point, making the rest of the process ten times easier. He was thankful when he could back away from the maniac, but then he had to lean back forward a few seconds later and the process repeated. Back and forth, wrapping the man up in the white bandages, each time the warm breath graced his skin. It was a slow process considering how much of the man's chest he had to cover. Every time he leaned in the Joker would lean forward, subtly breathing in his scent before he moved away again. Bruce really wanted to punch him in the nose, if nothing more than to simply wipe that smug smile off his stupid face. The billionaire was almost done when the madman quietly broke the silence between them.

“I'll never get over the way you smell.” The Joker admitted softly and Bruce's lips tightened in irritation, his jaw clenching.

“Obviously.” The playboy replied dryly, only a few more rounds to go and the bandage should be secure enough.

“Like, rubber. Sweat. Well oiled machines. And the... musty night air after a heavy rain. And blood. But maybe that's just from me.” The Joker whispered trailing off into a light amused giggle. Bruce shook his head, taking in a deep breath. The suit could get pretty hot most nights, it was a small price to pay for protection, and he always kept his gadgets well oiled and ready to use. The last thing he needed was to have them jam in the middle of a fight. The cave. It must be the Bat Cave that gave him that last one scent. Bruce cleared his throat awkwardly, tugging the bandage tighter around the maniac.

“Well. You. Normally smell like gunpowder, cheap grease makeup, a weird mix of chemicals and... Leather. Even though you don't wear any.” Bruce muttered, finally able to finish the bandaging, he picked up some scissors and cut through the end, severing it from the roll.

“Ah, ah!” The Joker tutted lifting his palms a little he wiggled his fingers as Bruce found the tape.

“It's the gloves.” The madman informed him his eyes widening with his grin.

“I need new ones. Ridiculously often! They get bloodied so easily.” The maniac complained and Bruce finally looked up to glare at him. The Joker just grinned back letting his arms fall when the billionaire tucked the bandage and tape into the others, securing the gauze. It was sad to say Bruce knew what he meant. His gloves needed replacing often just as often. It got to the point that they detach from the rest of his gauntlet for quick replacement on his newer suits. Bruce stood up, ignoring the connection as he walked back over to the dresser, taking his stash of medical equipment with him.

“Get dressed.” The billionaire demanded as he arranged the first aid kit's items into their correct spots. The Joker sighed dramatically from behind him, but the bed moved regardless of the maniac's reluctance to join civilized society. The playboy closed the lid on the first aid kit, picking up the scalpel and cream he had placed beside it. There was a rustling of clothes behind him as Bruce walked across the room to pick up the discarded lid, the one the Joker had thrown around like useless garbage. Screwing it back on he entered the bathroom, trying to avoid the freezing puddles on the floor he quickly put the items away. When he entered the bedroom he looked up, holding back an irritated sigh and the need to pound someone's face in. Realizing the Joker wasn't where he had left him.

Instead, his closet door was open again, and the light was on. Bruce sighed and sat back onto the bed, listening to the Joker riffle around his large walk in closet noisily. He pulled out his phone and started pressing buttons, tracking news, not in the mood to argue with the madman about what clothes crazy should wear. Several minutes later, and a few minutes of the Joker's, new, happy humming, and the madman came out of the closet. The first thing in sight was the man's ivory hand, followed back a long while sleeve. The Joker's green hair peaked out next followed by the rest of his body, and Bruce had almost been relieved he didn't have to babysit the man. Except The Joker was only wearing a white button up shirt that was at least two sizes bigger then him, and nothing else. The first button was undone leaving the shirt's collar to hand dangerously on his shoulders. While the length of the shirt barely covered what he needed it to.

“No.” Bruce stated blandly almost instantly, turning his attention back to his phone. The Joker looked down at himself slowly, then back up with wide eyes. Taking in the playboy's uninterested posture.

“What?! I look fantastic! I mean come on. Look at this!” The madman said exasperatedly, and against his better judgment, Bruce looked up again. The Joker's posture changed, shrinking in on himself to seem smaller than he really was. He pulled his hands up to his face, covering his scars. Letting the long sleeves cover his pale hands, only the ivory fingers visible. The maniac bounced his shoulder gently a few times, letting one side of the shirt slip over his cream pale skin, showing off a little of his bicep. The Joker leaned forward a little giving Bruce big innocent brilliant green eyes framed by long lashes, his hair ruffled and unkempt from doing nothing with it after he got out of the shower. Everything about the man was just begging Bruce to do the most dirty, nasty things the playboy could possibly think of to him. The billionaire would have to be a saint not to say the man was beautifully seductive at that moment.

“No.” Bruce whispered, reluctantly tearing his eyes from the sight and back to his phone. He didn't want to see that, didn't want to remember that. Didn't want to know that he had been right. That without the scars the man would have been stunningly beautiful. Dead gorgeous. It made Bruce wonder who he could have been before. If the scars had really been the catalyst for everything. A dangerous silence fell over the room.

“What?!” The Joker finally snarled, finally moved, tearing his hands away from his face indignantly. Not even a second later the phone in Bruce's hand was ripped away. The playboy immediately snatched after it, only to get a fist to the side of his face. Bruce sprang up as the Joker danced away from him pain webbing through his jaw. The madman gripped the phone between his hands attempting to break it, but Bruce only bought the best and it wasn't going to cave any time soon. He quickly covered the distance between them while the madman snarled down at the device, cursing it under his breath. The playboy slapped it out of the maniac's hands, letting it fall to the floor harmlessly. He grabbed the Joker's wrist instead, twisting it behind the man's back as the maniac spat angrily at him, forcing the man to turn away from him. Nails reached around the madman's thin body to scrape along Bruce's bicep, leaving angry welts behind. Bruce immediately hitched the arm higher forcing the maniac to arch his back or risk dislocating his shoulder. The Joker stopped with a hiss of pain. The playboy moved closer to the man's body, placing his face next to the Joker's pale scarred one, leaning over his shoulder.

“That's enough.” He whispered not looking at the man and the Joker growled in response, thrashing a little more despite how useless the action was.

“How about.” Bruce stated darkly, unable to stop himself from noticing how clean the male smelled, the usual gunpowder and grease only a phantom scent on his skin.

“You put some pants on. And we can get going.” The billionaire suggested, finally turning his head a little to look at the man's face, taking in the way those eyelashes narrowed and the scars twisted into a deeper frown.

“You. Called me. Ugly. And where would we go?” The Joker complained angrily through gritted teeth, entirely unhappy with his current trapped position.

“No. I said you needed to wear real clothes, like real people, who live real lives.” Batman hissed back tightening his grip on the man's wrist.

“And I don't know, maybe to feed your skinny ass.” The playboy grunted sarcastically, placing a hand on the man's shoulder, which isn't as bony as one would expect. The Joker turned his head towards the billionaire, forcing Bruce to inch back a little.

“How abou – .” The doorbell rang just as the Joker started to reply and they both fell silent for a few seconds, almost as if they had forgotten that the world still existed outside of the room.

“Put some pants on! Keep the shirt. I don't care.” Bruce demanded and shoved the maniac away from him. The Joker stumbled, pulling the collar of the shirt back over his shoulder haughtily. The billionaire walked over to the com system activating the security feed, he switched to the front door again.

“What the fuck.” Bruce exhaled slowly, unsure what to feel at that moment. Down on in the front entrance lay a large crooked round smiley face. The billionaire felt the Joker stop beside him to peer over his shoulder, his breath ghosting across the skin of his neck. The madman stood there for a second, both of them looking at the object in silence.

“I think I'll put some pants on now.” The Joker whispered with a quiet bland tone as he stared at the com screen.

“What is that?” The billionaire tilted his head towards the madman, stopping before he touched the man.

“That. Oh nothing really.” The Joker shrugged falling back from the playboy a few steps, lazily turning his attention towards the closet. Bruce watched him with suspicion as the madman stopped at the doorway to the closet. His vibrant green eyes watched as he lifted his hands up to trail sensually down the wood.

“Just really. Really. Bad news.” The maniac leaned against the frame, turning his attention to the playboy.

“If you didn't have me here, that is.” The Joker informed him shifting farther into the closet. He placed his forehead against the door frame and gazed back at Bruce with playful green eyes.

“Lucky you.” The madman whispered with a little chuckle, letting himself slid from the door frame and into the closet. Lazily turning his back to the billionaire as he picked through the abundance of clothing.

“That's not what I asked.” Bruce called to him in frustration, getting the Joker's attention back to the topic.

“Oh riiiiight. That. That? That is a. Bomb. Beauty queen. B. O. M. Boom!” The madman giggled, throwing his arms into the air in exaggeration, dropping whatever article of clothing he had just pulled from the hanger. The white dress shirt riding a little too high for Bruce's comfort. He turned away from the maniac, starring concerned at the joyful present on his front entrance instead.

“It's uh...” The madman muttered distractedly, scoffing at something he found in the closet.

“Part of my. Contingency. Plan.” The Joker finally got out, throwing some clothes over his shoulder and doing whatever he could to generally mess up the playboy's closet. Bruce paused mid thought at that revelation, his brows furrowing.

“Contingency... plan?” Bruce asked slowly turning his full attention back to the madman, who didn't even bother looking up from his closet raiding.

“Well there can't be a Gotham. Without Batman and Joker. Right?! So I figured. If you ever died...” The Joker trailed off holding up some pants to his lower region, they were easily too big for him. He threw them over his shoulder as well.

“You'd, what? Blow up the city?!” The billionaire asked incredulously, the fact that the man was half naked and there was a bomb on their doorstep completely forgotten for the moment. Did the maniac really have fucking bombs situated across Gotham?

“You make it seem so dramatic!” The Joker huffed exasperatedly, finally pulling up a pair of dark green sweat pants.

“How is that not dramatic?! You'd blow up Gotham because I got myself killed?!” Bruce questioned his loudly, closing the distance between himself and the closet. The madman glanced at him, rolling his eyes before slipping one leg into the pants.

“Noooo... I'd blow up Gotham. Because someone was. Stupid. Enough. To kill you.” The Joker corrected him once his second leg was in the pants, he pulled them up. They were still too big for him.

“I mean, I've told all the big wigs about it, of course.” He reached up rearranging his package in the new clothing.

“Why do you think they don't just. Kill. You! When they get their hands on you?” The Joker asked him with raised eyebrows as he tightened and tied the strings around his hips. Silence reigned through the room and Bruce's face twisted adorably in hidden confusion and not to secret anger. The maniac laughed incredulously, a smirk taking over his face.

“You... think they actually... Want! To play hero and villain with you?!” The madman shook his head in disbelief, walking towards the playboy with a smug smile on his face.

“Mobsters... Mobsters! Criminals. They don't play, they shoot! Then ask questions. And clean up the messes they make when they don't ask questions first!” The Joker laughed, stopping in front of the nightly vigilante, who was giving him the most lost look he had ever seen on the Bat. Bruce wanted to laugh right back at the Joker, but he couldn't. He had wondered so many times why they didn't, hadn't, just shot him in the face when they got the chance, had taken him by surprise. Instead pitting him against a ridiculously large group of men, or something equally as absurd. Traps or collapsing buildings, cells, or restraints.

“Oh come on. Don't look so lost!” The Joker giggled, grabbing the man's angular jaw between his fingers and giving his head a little shake.

“Don't actually tell me you thought they, like, respected you? Or something.” He let his hand fall back to his side when the larger male's jaw muscle bulged in irritation but his eyes remained stone.

“Oh Batsy Baby.” The Joker whispered looking down, gently straightening the hem of the man's shirt.

“Respect isn't earned by beat people up, or by trampling well thought out plans.” He snapped his startling green eyes back up to meet cold steel blue ones, those mad eyes taking a darker tone.

“It's earned.” The Joker whispered stepping closer to Bruce, keeping their eyes locked.

“By fear. I mean. People are scared of you. Sure! Like they fear the bogeyman under their beds!” The madman gasped sarcastically, “What if Bats gets wind of this and messes everything up?! But they aren't afraid of you. Not like they fear the creepy rapist murderer down the street. Or the war that grows ever closer to their homes. Like they fear. The rampaging fire, or the tornado crashing it's way through their lives. Destroying.” The Joker hissed through gritted teeth, his ever present grin absent, until the bitter smile tugged at his scars accompanied by an equally bitter laugh.

“Hell! They still run up! And try to beat. The shit. Out of you.” The Joker laughed, tapping Bruce's chest with a decisive finger, “because they'll live to see another day!” The Joker cackled and licked his lips, tilting his head and running his eyes over Bruce's well formed body, before meeting his eyes again.

“I don't have to worry about that.” The Joker whispered, placing his hands against the man's chest, slowly running them up, ignoring how the shirt bunched at the action.

“People run. From the room. When I walk in! They cower in corners and wet themselves. Because they won't. See. Another. Day.” The Joker gritted out, his hands running over his shoulders and up the curve of his neck. He leaned forward, his lips barely caressing the playboy's ear. Bruce wanted to shove the man away, but he was busy questioning whether the madman was the reason he wasn't dead in a ditch somewhere ages ago, a time when he was less experienced, just starting out as Batman, his legacy just seeping into the minds of his enemies. He had made mistakes back then, but the Joker had been around for awhile, and so had he. Both of them infamously known.

“So you're welcome.” The Joker whispered, his lips brushing Bruce's ear, “Peter. Pan. You can keep flying around with your. Tinkerbell. While I keep the real dangers out of Wonderland.” The Joker licked his lips, pressing them against the delicious skin just beneath the man's earlobe.

“Just. For. You.” He exhaled against the skin. Then his head was roughly pulled back by the hair, a hiss of pain leaving his lips. Bruce pulled the man's head back until their eyes met. Bruce's anger flaring instantly at the mention of Robin.

“Until you killed Tinkerbell.” The playboy growled back at him. His grip tightening enough to pull hair out of the maniac's head. The Joker's hands slipped from Bruce's neck to grab roughly at his hips.

“Ooooh! That was cute! Say it again.” The Joker exhaled, pulling Bruce's hips into his own, rubbing their barely clothed cocks against each other, sucking in a breath of pleasure at the end of his sentence as they met.

“Fuck you.” Bruce snarled violently, shoving the man away from him and onto the clothes covered floor. The Joker sighed dramatically, throwing his head back in disappointment. With an indignant huff of irritation he picked up a random piece of clothing and threw it at the man.

“That kid was bad for you, and you know it!” The madman snapped back, the pair of pants falling uselessly to the floor. Bruce's fist slammed into the door frame as he took a menacing step forward.

“Your existence is bad for me.” He hissed down at the maniac. Anger fueled by confusion coursing through his veins.

“You don't save anyone. You selfish bastard. You just play around like you're a puppet master and think we actually have strings!” Bruce yelled at him in frustration with another punch to the door frame. The madman's eyes narrowed.

“Most people do.” The Joker whispered darkly back at him from his place on the floor. The billionaire scoffed, nodding his head sardonically a bitter smile cutting across his handsome features.

“And when they don't play along, you just cut them down. Like the puppets you think they are. I'd rather be the bogeyman in their closet then the killer down the street. Fairy tales don't ruin lives.” Bruce scowled down at the madman, who suddenly scowled back. The Joker quickly scrambled to his feet, anger twisting his scarred features. He was quickly back in Bruce's personal bubble before the man could even think about stepping away from him. The Joker had one hand around his thick neck, applying only enough pressure to prove to the playboy that he was still a threat.

“If you think for a second!” The Joker hissed, giving the man a single shake, “what you do doesn't ruin someone's life you're sadly, pathetically, mistaken.” The Joker snarled giving him a shake for each ending word, getting as close to Bruce's face as he could without touching it.

“What do you think happens, to those men. That. Fail! Huh? The ones that fail to take you in?! What do you think happens to their families?! Their children?! You think the Penguin or Black Mask just let them come back to work the next day?! No questions asked, no slap on the wrist?! You. Live! In a fairy tale!” The Joker screamed at him, his grip tightening against his throat. Bruce's hand snapped up to hold his wrist, ready to start an all out brawl if he needed to restrain the man.

“And one day.” The Joker took in a shaky breath, “You'll notice that. And you'll wonder what to do.” The Joker whispered, his hand slipping off his neck, over his collarbone and down his chest.

“Because the world doesn't work the way you want it to, Bruce... You. Just. Breathing.” The madman's fingers curled into his shirt on his abdomen, tugging him down a little.

“Right now. Is hurting someone. One day. You'll understand that.” The Joker exhaled his eyes softening, and Bruce gradually shook his head in pity. His hand still on the madman's wrist but not pulling him away from the grip he had on his shirt.

“I'll never see the world the way you do, the way you want me to... Think, I can.” Bruce replied just as quietly and the maniac shook his head right back, with a sad smile, his palm flattening out gently across his stomach.

“You already do. You just won't admit it.” The Joker whispered, his breath ghosting across the billionaire's lips.

“No.” Bruce whispered back, almost stubbornly, and the Joker huffed in disappointment, pulling away from the man, straightening up the playboy's shirt again.

“We don't have time for this, Bats. That bomb doesn't have the highest count down.” The Joker insisted, stalking past the man's broad body, slamming into the billionaire's side as he went.

“I'll take care of it.” Bruce stated, slapping a hand against the madman's chest to stop him from getting too far. Which caused The Joker to hiss in pain, and the playboy to instantaneously jerk away from him. The Joker rubbed his bullet wound, turning his gaze back to the billionaire.

“No you won't. That bomb was designed to never be shut down in time. Not even by your pretty little head. It's a mess of complicated mathematics, and a ridiculous technical jumble of useless cables and faulty wires all, intricately, designed to create a large series of chambers that need to line up in exactly the right way. Which, by the way, also has several possible, but wrong, solutions. Which make it go Boom!” The Joker rambled off, ending with a tight smile at the playboy, patting him on the shoulder.

“You can take the back seat on this one, buddy.” The madman insisted moving towards the door again and this time Bruce let him, simply following behind. He'd check this bomb out first, make sure the Joker wouldn't blow them up just for kicks.

“What does that mean?” Bruce asked, hoping that maybe he could get a better understanding of the thing before he saw it.

“It means! It's the reason. No one. Has tried to kill you. Outside of the parameters I set for them as an acceptable attempt. I mean, what fun would it be if they didn't try right?” The Joker asked, glancing back at the man, as he turned the wrong direction.

“If I have to say, what does that mean, one more time. I'm going to punch you.” Bruce stated dryly, snatching the Joker's hand he tugged him back, flipped him around, and shoved him towards in the proper direction. The madman looked confused for a split second, before he shrugged and continued on like nothing had happened.

“It means, I let them have some fun! It also means the bomb isn't a smash and de-encrypt like the ones you normally come up against. I mean, come on. You think I'd keep using those when they are so easily disengaged?! This one and the ones like it would take Riddler at least an hour or two to solve, in which case. BOOM!” The Joker giggled, “I just laugh! At the idea of someone attempting really. And if they get it?! Well bully for them! There are twenty more where that came from! And oh. So. Little time!” The Joker laughed, pressing the button for the elevator a little too joyfully, and a few times too many.

“You have twenty of those things?” Bruce asked the doors opening immediately, since there was no one in the house to call it away.

“That I've told you about? Yeah! You know... You could just, I don't know, make sure you never. Die! And then no one has to worry about it, right?” The Joker suggested walking into the little room to lean nonchalantly against the wall, crossing his feet at the ankles.

“That's not the point. What if someone uses them. Like. Now.” Bruce growled out, jamming the ground level button a little too violently.

“Well... only me and Harley can arm them. So. Really. I wouldn't worry too much.” The Joker muttered with a shrug and was graced with a pointed glare from the other male. The Joker shifted a little his eyes falling to the ground, a frown pulling at his scars.

“Apparently that fucking... Wannabe. Convinced Harley to set it up.” The madman huffed dangerously, glowering into space. The playboy raised a questioning brow.

“I'm not going to say it.” Bruce stated after a few moments of silence. The Joker simply looked up at him innocently and the playboy narrowed his eyes. The silence continued until the door pinged open. The Joker moved to exit the room but Bruce slammed a powerful foot against the door frame before he could leave. Effectively stopping his exit.

“Alright, alright. Jesus, you're so violent. I love it.” The Joker giggled, shoving playfully at the man's calf. Bruce, scowled but dropped the leg, letting the man exit the elevator.

“Harley... Harley was the one that shot me.” The madman admitted, walking casually down the hallway.

“Harley? Really?” Bruce asked in disbelief, keeping up with the man instead of trailing behind.

“Apparently her new Puddin' is a better man than I am. Which is funny.” The Joker giggled, turning a corner, Bruce's hand immediately snatched him back after a few steps down the new hall.

“Watch the windows. We should check the security room, make sure no one is out there.” The billionaire stated, peering down the hall.

“We're dead either way!” The Joker laughed pulling out of his grip and waltzing back out into the view of the window. Bruce let him walk another step, the fearful feeling gathering in his gut, before he surrendered to the instinct, retching the madman back. The world went in slow motion. The black blur passing centimeters by the Joker's face. The glass breaking into thousands of pieces, the shattering sound blasting through the hall. The maniac fell back into Bruce who wrapped his arm around his waist hauling him away from the cascading shards. The playboy pulled him close twisting his body to shelter him from the remaining glass. Bruce hissed in pain as several shards sliced into his back, the rest pattering to the floor.

“I... You didn't...” The Joker stuttered as Bruce moved them away from the window, into the safety of the darkened hall. The playboy had barely let the madman go when the Joker immediately slipped around him.

“I need to get to the security room.” Bruce muttered trying to push down the sudden stinging. He hissed in pain as the madman peeled his shirt away from his back. The Joker shook his head, taking in the damage.

“I need to get to that bomb. We've wasted time. We don't have tick tocks for them to corral us around the house like sheep!” The Joker growled darkly, pulling out glass as gently as possible from Bruce's back. The billionaire moved out of his reach yanking his shirt back down.

“We don't have time for that either.” The billionaire insisted, he leveled his gaze on the Joker. Wondering if he could trust him. He could get out of the house if he needed, but he'd rather not lose the mansion a second time. But if what the Joker said was true then it wasn't possible to save it by himself regardless. He didn't see much choice.

“I'll go to the security room and get rid of them. You get to the front door. Safely. When I give you the go ahead, get the bomb into the house. There's a room in the middle that should be secure enough to give up time to disarm it. We can hold out there while you get it done. If they get inside it would take them too long to reach us in time to stop you from disarming it. But... Promise me you can do this. Promise me you can disarm the bomb. Listen, we can get out... We can leave. Right now. Forget the mansion.” Bruce stated grabbing onto the Joker's arm, staring into his startled eyes. The Joker slowly shook his head.

“No. I can disarm it. I've never lied to you. Not really. You know that. I can disarm it.” The Joker insisted, all insanity absent from his ever mad eyes.

“There's no, I can disarm it but, in that sentence that you're leaving off?” Bruce questioned distrustfully.

“No. I promise you I can disarm it. I just need time. Time we're wasting.” The Joker hissed, concern creeping into his eyes. Bruce shook his head, his eyes falling to the floor.

“What if they waited? What if we don't have as much time as we think?” Bruce asked suddenly, entirely unsure splitting up would work, if he even wanted to take the chance. The Joker shook his head soothingly.

“I can set it back. I just need to get to it.” The madman promised, and the billionaire slowly nodded, glancing back at the shattered glass.

“Okay. I'll see you in a few minutes.” Bruce finally decided, rushing off farther into the house, while the Joker crouched to the ground, making his way past the windows unseen.

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Reviews really do make my day. I got one on Christmas that was like Best Christmas present! And I was like YES! Deck the FUCKING HALLS!


	10. Essence of Creation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Joker must work together to keep Wayne Manor from exploding, but what if more then just bombs explode? And whats left in the wreckage?

Sooooooo guess what... Yeah shit starts to break. Walls crack. Lives fall. Insanity rises. Buwahahahahaha

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Shattered Identities

Chapter 10

The Essence of Creation

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Bruce entered the security room swiftly, letting the door slam hard against the wall. The room was located directly inside the safe room he and the Joker were going to hole themselves up in, at least until the immediate danger of getting blown up was dealt with. He almost sat down in the chair, but quickly opted out of that action. The stinging throb in his back a reminder of his newer injuries. Instead he leaned over the desk, clicking the keyboard so the multiple screens lit up. His attention immediately focused on the entrance hall monitor, the screen broken into eight sections, all showing different angles and adjourning halls. The Joker was just creeping around the corner towards the main entrance. His back to the wall. His green hair, now mostly dry, bouncing as he peered quickly around the edge. Bruce activated the electric walls, sending volts through the fences and fake stones surrounding the house. Then he activated the heat sensors. There were three heat signatures littered around the entrance, all in clear view of the bomb, and several others littered around the house. Cutting off the two's escape from the mansion if they had ran, not that Batman would ever run so he kinda thought that move was pointless. The billionaire activated the gargoyles around the house. He had installed several, okay a ton of new upgrades to his home when he rebuilt it. If he had to build something from scratch he might as well make it pretty damn awesome. The hidden stun dart guns were one of the new enhancements. If he had a say in the matter, he wouldn't be rebuilding anytime in the next five hundred years. Pressing some more keys he activated the controls. One of the gargoyles watching over the entrance slowly and silently turned it's head, it's stone face menacing, its jaws gaping. The Joker finally reached the door and immediately reached for the handle, twisting it. The heat signatures shifted.

“Wait.” Bruce quickly stated, activating the intercom near the entrance with a few more buttons. The Joker almost jumped at the sound, turning to glare into the empty hallway. Bruce leveled another gargoyle on the second body, but the there were only two stun guns in range of the entrance. He would have to remedy that when this was over. Four at least.

“Be-baby, we. Don't. Have. Time for this!” The Joker sang, turning back to the door and twisting the handle again. The billionaire activated the guns hitting his targets, but the third man ducked down, hiding behind the trunk of the tree he was situated in.

“Just one more.” Bruce stated, turning the other gargoyle to see if it had a better shot, if he aimed it just right he could get the guy.

“Bruce love!” The Joker called out impatiently, pulling the door open a crack.

“One second... Damn it! I can't get a shot in. Just wait.”

“Well lets hope they could use some target practice!” The Joker giggled, throwing the door open.

“Wait no! Joker!” Bruce shouted after him, the body moved, peaking out of the trees and leveling a gun towards the door.

“I still don't have a shot! Give me – Joker ge – .” The sound of a bullet shattering stone echoed through the entrance hall, the man ducked back down just as Bruce lined up the shoot, but then he peeked over the edge to see if he had hit his target and the playboy let the dart fly. The body fell out of the tree as the billionaire slammed his fists against the counter.

“God damn it Joker! If you got shot I swear to fucking god – .” The madman dragged the bomb inside, one hand holding his arm. The rest of the heat signatures around the mansion started moving, rushing towards the sound of the gunshot, or to the mansion.

“Relax love it's just a scratch.” The maniac claimed rolling his eyes. Bruce scowled at the image, activating the lockdown of the mansion.

“I'm serious. If I have to treat another bullet wound I'm going to – .” The Joker giggled cutting him off while looking around the room, searching for the hidden camera.

“Kill someone?! Doll, get down here and give me a hand, will you?!” The madman pulled the bomb farther into the room, his hand still pressed against his shoulder. The maniac huffed after a few seconds, gazing back up at the ceiling.

“Seriously! It's just a scratch can you curb your. Beautiful. Rage, for another time?!” The Joker exhaled tiredly, giving the bomb another tug and Bruce took one last look at the group of bodies rushing towards the entrance and dashed there as well.

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The Joker had made it past the entryway and into the main hall by the time Bruce got there. The billionaire immediately placed both hands on the bomb, slowly starting to pick it up. He cast a questioning gaze at the madman who nodded his head confirmation. Given the go ahead, he snatched the bomb off the floor, and they made their way swiftly into the mansion, passing through as many rooms with no windows as they could until they made it to the safe room. Bruce placed the bomb onto the coffee table, rushing back into the security room he initiated the second lock down system. Essentially they were trapped inside the room while everyone was stuck outside, but Bruce knew things never worked the way he wanted them, so he had planned for everything. All the doors and windows in the house had already closed with his initial lock down procedure. Bullet proof glass sliding out to lock the windows, while the doors locks were barred, from the inside of the wood. On the outside the house would look normal while on the inside it was a safe house throughout the mansion. The actual safe room acting as a secondary measure, only really needed if anything or anyone had already gotten inside, and counting the body heat signatures he read outside the house they already had.  
“Oh looky! Six minutes and counting! I guess you were right, Tiger. They did let it tick for a while.” The Joker giggled, tearing off the smiley face cover. Bruce left the security room to take a look at this so called bomb.

“What the fuck?” The billionaire whispered looking down at the mass of wires and boxes with numbers and equations etched onto them, all interrupted randomly by smiley faces and doodles. The Joker was right, this would take him hours to figure out and even then the Joker said he might get the wrong solution. The madman hunkered down over the bomb, his eyes sharpening, brows furrowed.

“Give me a second, B-babe. I reaaaaally need to concentrate on this.” The Joker whined twisting a box hesitantly, connecting and disconnecting a few wires. Bruce watched him work, watched the crease of his brow and the set of his lips. The way his hair plastered against his sweat dotted skin, and how he ran his tongue along his bottom lip every once in awhile. As if he wasn't quite sure he was doing it right, and the prospect of them blowing sky high was rather exciting. Bruce had no idea what the man was doing, or what each wire or turn meant but so far they hadn't blown up so he was okay with it. Surprised even. That he was trusting the homicidal chaos prince with his life. A man he didn't even know the name of. Would probably never know the name of. No matter how much he dug or how many blood samples he retrieved from the man he couldn't find him. Not even facial recognition could connect him with another person that had existed before him. Bruce had often wondered if he had come from a third world country, smuggled in some how. Maybe from Africa, the Caucasian half of the country.

“Woo! Back to two hours. See princess! I told you I was good.” The Joker tilted his head back at the billionaire, he winking playfully, turning his attention back to the bomb.

“I still need to concentrate though, so leave the celebrator kiss for later, alright?! I know you're just itching for it.” The Joker chuckled, quieting down as he concentrated on the wires and twists and turns of the strange contraption.

“How's it coming?” Bruce asked after several minutes of silence between the two, and the Joker didn't reply. Too engrossed in his actions to pay attention. The billionaire watched him for a few more minutes then he asked again. Getting the same result. He opened his mouth ready to call the man's name when he stopped. He had an idea. It might be a really stupid idea and could get them killed, but he couldn't resist the temptation. The chance that he could know.

“John?” Bruce whispered experimentally, concentrating just as hard on the madman as the maniac was concentrating on the bomb.

“James?” Tried again, waiting a few seconds but the man didn't seem to notice him.

“Jordan? Jacob? Jeremy. Um, Julian? Joseph.” Bruce paused a little longer then a few seconds, sitting down on the arm of a recliner feeling a little foolish. The playboy shook his head, continuing anyways.

“Joe. Jared. Jacob? Jim... uh, Jack?” The Joker paused, it was only for a split second, barely even a heartbeat, but there was a moment. The billionaire froze in turn, surprised that his idiotic plan had actually worked, his eyes bore into the back of the madman's head, the surprise wearing off. Then his mind worked faster than he could keep up, connecting, piecing images, words, facts together, until suddenly it was all sucked away into a vast black hole, his mind blank. Shock. Dread rose like violent ocean waves inside Bruce, beating against his hollow insides with crushing force. He tried to breath but his lungs wouldn't work properly, drowning in the feeling. He had never felt so close to a panic attack in his life. He stood up a little too quickly, his hand shooting out to catch himself on the other arm of the chair. He gritted his teeth, trying to take back the last minute of his life, trying to stop the queasy shaking, thankful that the Joker had stayed occupied.

He didn't want to know. He had lied. He didn't want to know. God, he didn't want to know. He pushed himself away from the chair, almost falling back into it. Then he hesitated for a moment, unsure what to do. What he could do. Get away. He moved slowly into the security room and leaned heavily against the counter, staring at the screens without really seeing, he took deep quiet steadying breaths, but they still shook, his eyes wide. No. No. Bruce closed his eyes tightly. His hands gripping the table, his knuckles turning white as he gritted his teeth. No. Damn it. No... He had to be sure, he couldn't wait, he couldn't not know. Couldn't wonder. Bruce tore his phone out of his pocket, watching it shake in his grip. No, watching his grip shake.

“I'm... going to keep an eye on the... intruders, see if I... can take them out.” Bruce called halfheartedly back to the Joker, who looked up from his work his lips slightly parted, their eyes meeting, his green irises piercing the billionaire's own for all of a second. Knowing. Of course he knew, the man may be insane, but he was still a genius. The Joker blankly turned his attention back to the bomb and Bruce slowly shut the door, sealing off all sound. Turning the phone's screen on, he hesitated only a moment before dialing Alfred.

“Hello, sir. I hope all is well.” Alfred answered the phone almost instantly, barely giving the billionaire time to think.

“Alfred... I need you, to do me a favor.” Bruce whispered quietly, as he leaned helplessly against the counter.

“Oh my. Are... Are you alright Master Bruce?” Alfred asked concern obvious in his voice.

“I. I don't know... I need you to run the Joker's blood again.” Bruce muttered and the old man gave a dry chuckle.

“Sir. We've done this countless times and we always get the same results.” Alfred reminded him, not wanting go on another wild goose chase. Bruce always got so worked up with those.

“I know, but... This time. Against the people I've removed from the system.” Bruce whispered, hoping his voice wasn't shaking as much as it sounded. When he was sure someone was dead. Seen their body, like Jason, he took them out of the system. He didn't want to risk ever seeing their faces flash by while he ran the computer's search engines.

“I... Of course, sir. Give me one moment.” Bruce stared at his shaking hand, willing it to stop as he waited. Listening to Alfred shoo Oracle away from the computer, and the clicks of the keyboard. He listened to Robin's endless string of questions and then the silence that reigned after the quiet earth shattering ping of the computer. Bruce pressed the back of his hand against his lips, and he closed his eyes, willing himself not to throw up at the silence. It could only mean one thing.

“Sir. I uh... I have a match.” Alfred said quietly, the gravity of the situation finally soaking in. Bruce nodded his head, then realized that he needed to do more then that.

“The name, give me the name.” Bruce breathed out painfully, fearfully, he didn't want to believe this. Why was this happening. He didn't do this. Please, Alfred, tell him he didn't do this. That this wasn't his fault.

“Jack Napier. Sir. He – .” Alfred replied reluctantly and Bruce quickly cut him off.

“I know who he is.” Bruce breathed out quickly hanging up the phone, taking another deep breath. He didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to hear the story again. Didn't want hear Alfred's voice tell him exactly who the man in the next room was. He was that beautiful young man Bruce had failed. That stunningly beautiful kid... that kid, the one that shouldn't have been there! He shouldn't have been there! Damn it! Bruce let himself fall to the floor, ignoring how the slid against the counter dug the glass deeper into his back. He placed his head into his hands, pulling his knees up to his chest like Tim had done earlier. This was all his fault. All of this was his fault. That Christmas night of chaotic madness so long ago, Jason, the countless lives lost in the madman's wake. All of it, was his fault. This was his fault. God... The Joker had been right...

This was his fucking fault! Bruce angrily kicked the chair beside him and it crashed against the wall, falling over to violently hit the ground. He couldn't go out there. He couldn't. Not now. He didn't want to. He didn't want to leave this little room. It was so much easier in here. He could... pretend? Maybe... that he, he didn't know? That he didn't know. He didn't know it was his fault. That what that beautiful young man had become was his fault. The Joker wasn't his fault! Damn it! It wasn't. It wasn't! He wasn't his fault. Fuck! Why did the universe play such cruel fucking tricks on him. Everything was a cruel twist of fate. Everyone and everything he touched slowly corrupted and died. Alfred was a saint, the only one with enough good luck to counter his bad. He took another steadying breath. The Joker was his fault. He. He. Bruce. Batman. He created the Joker.

The Joker was his... The Joker was his. His phone rang, and he stared down at it, still in his hand. He wanted to throw that across the room as well but couldn't, he might need it. He ignored the warm trails creeping down the side of his face. It had been so fucking long since he had felt them, but he couldn't stop them. Not this time. Because it was his fault and he felt so helpless. So wrong. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin. No. His skin wanted to crawl off him, because that homicidal insane genius was his fault. He pulled his legs back towards him burying his face in the darkness there, breathing in a shaky breath.

There was a clink of metal, and Bruce tensed, holding back a cry of frustration. He forgot to lock the fucking door. Said door was pulled open quietly and the Joker's shadow fell across him. Bruce watched as the madman's bare feet shuffled quietly into the room. The billionaire tried to reel his emotions in, but the man's mere presence kept throwing them back into his face. His mind was a broken record, doomed to repeat the same sentence back to him. Over and over. The Joker is yours, its your fault. The Joker is yours, its all your fault. Fresh tears broke through his steely resolve, and he held tighter to his sweat pants. Holding his breath, his arms shaking with the effort. The Joker around and knelt down beside him, leaning close, a small smile on his lips. The madman chuckled almost silently, shaking his head a little in disbelief. His breath caressed the edges of Bruce's hair.

“Baby... If I knew this was the way to break you. I'd of done it ages ago.” The Joker whispered, his hand reaching up to card lovingly through the billionaire's hair, and Bruce... couldn't help it. He laughed, because the Joker would and this whole situation was beyond fucked up. A small chuckle at first to match the maniac's own. Then into a crescendo, becoming a broken, pitiful, half crazed laugh filled with despair. He couldn't help it. It was just so funny. He jerked almost violently away from the man's hand, falling back onto the floor, easily ignoring how the glass drove deeper into his skin. It really felt better to laugh. So much better then just sitting there crying, drowning in all of those emotions. Fear, regret, panic, guilt, pain, loss. He tilted his head back and let it all go, placing a hand on his head as he laughed, the sound echoing around the room. He hadn't laughed this hard since before his parents died, but it was just so fucking funny! All of it. Nothing. Everything? He wasn't too sure but it was funny. Fucking hilarious! The Joker simply sat beside him quietly letting him break. Finally Bruce slammed a fist into the wall just behind him, trailing off into a shuttering sigh, all those emotions creeping back up to him. The Joker was still kneeling next to him, a small sad, but satisfied, smile on his lips. Bruce's sight moved from the ceiling and he just lay, there staring at the man, letting his breathing even out, letting the emotions slip away into a strange void of nothing.

He remembered. Remembered the picture he had spent months staring at in guilt, regret. Of that young man he had failed. Failed to save, failed to stop. He had spent ages tracking down everything he could possibly know about that night. He knew who the kids parents were, that they were killed, just like his own, but the young man had gone to live with his aunt, while Bruce had stayed with Alfred. It was such a terrible story, because the woman had been murdered as well, by the same criminals. Then the whole thing got confusing, twisted, impossible to understand despite how long Bruce had tried to understand it. The kid, Jack Napier, had gone to work for, live with, the same criminal organization that had taken away his family. Bruce... couldn't figure out why. The kid hadn't risen through the ranks, had shown little desire to. No one said he had malicious tendencies towards the leaders. They said he got along great with everyone in the lower ranks, as much as anyone in a criminal environment could. They said he was reckless and charismatic. He had talked to everyone, every last criminal that had contact with the kid, yet he still didn't know why. How did Bruce miss it? How did it take him this long to connect the dots? To figure it out? Did he just... not want to know?

“I... guess the game is over.” The Joker muttered licking his lips, running one hand down Bruce's stomach, resting against his abs, his eyes trailing after the movement. The billionaire continued staring at him for several more seconds. Finally the billionaire's head slowly moved left to right, he closed his eyes shaking his head in disbelief, opening them once again to bore into the maniac's.

“Why were you there?” Bruce asked quietly, the burning question, the one that had eaten away at him for years. He had asked himself, others, thousands of times, but no one could give him an answer, and he had beat through countless criminals in his search. None of them could answer. 'I don't know' wasn't an answer Batman accepted.

“Why were you there?” Bruce repeated himself a little louder, pushing himself off the floor. His brows furrowed in anger as the madman simply stared back at him.

“Why?! Why were you there?!” The billionaire demanded, grabbing the wrist on his abdomen, squeezing a little too tight. The maniac chuckled quietly.

“Why do you think... I was there?” The Joker whispered with a bitter smile and a tilt of his head.

“I was bored. I thought it would be fun. A good way to dash through the ranks, get a few giggles, a better, more entertaining, job.” The Joker looked away, his eyes glazed as he remembered that day. His hand twisted around to hold Bruce's larger one.

“It would have worked, too. Except... You showed up. You weren't even, a whisper, back then. How...” The Joker scoffed shaking his head with another amused chuckle. “How. Was I to know. You. would be there? But... Then...” The Joker tore his eyes away from Bruce instead staring at the ground. “I... I was scared. I was so scared to go back. Scared to get up, scared... to live.” The madman muttered, his jaw tensing as he swallowed hard and Bruce shook his head in disbelief, understanding.

“You didn't take my hand. You. You didn't take my hand.” Bruce gritted out angrily, and the Joker smiled, moving his green eyes up to meet his own.

“No. I didn't.” The madman chuckled, and the billionaire growled in frustration, tugging on the man's hand in anger.

“Damn it! Why? Why not! Why didn't you take my hand?! I could have saved you.” Bruce hissed, almost thankful that not all of this was his fault. That the Joker could share half the blame. The madman simply scoffed at the question. Rolling his vibrant green eyes before leveling the playboy with a scathing look.

“Look at me.” The Joker laughed, and Bruce's brow furrowed in confusion.

“No.” The Joker huffed with a small growl, his hand shooting out to grip the billionaire's masculine chin.

“Really! Look. At. Me.” And suddenly Bruce saw the scars, realized what the maniac was saying, saw what they had done to him. Knew what they had done to him. They had wiped him off the planet. Bruce had searched for the kid, combed through hundred of men with questions and he was dead, Jack Napier was dead. That was the general consensus. The only knowledge anyone had. Jack Napier was dead.

“I'm... sorry. I'm sorry.” Bruce whispered firmly as he grabbed the back of the Joker's head, pulling him down to him. He placed his forehead against the madman's. His grip tightening in the man's hair. Jack, just a kid trying to prove himself, had been scared. Scared to face his surrogate family after what he had done, and for good reason it seemed.

“I thought it was funny.” The Joker whispered pressing his head harder against Bruce's.

“Tried to play it off, like it was some big... Joke. Didn't really work. I didn't really look like myself to begin with so, it wasn't hard to get rid of me. I couldn't help but laugh though, I mean thwarted by a bat of all things.” The Joker chuckled in amusement, closing his eyes against the heat of Bruce's skin.

“But, why did you join them?” Bruce asked quietly, he had always wanted to know. Why hadn't Jack Napier become like him? Chasing the criminals that had ruined his life? Of course the man was never a billionaire, thus maybe not a vigilante, but he could have been a cop or a lawyer or anything really, why join them?

“What do you mean?” The Joker asked opening his eyes to stare into Bruce's stormy blue orbs.

“They killed your family. Why – .”

“Oh, that?! It's really dumb, actually.” The Joker admitted, smoothing a hand down Bruce's chest absentmindedly, hoping it would distract the man.

“I, uh, I... heh. I just, um...” But he couldn't say it. Couldn't bring himself to admit what he had wanted back then, what he craved. What he now knew he'd never get, no matter how hard he tried because the world just didn't work that way. Humans didn't work that way. Never would.

“Tell me.” Bruce insisted quietly, twisting his head against the man's own, digging into his flesh, but the Joker remained silent. Irritation shot through him, his emotions haywire and volatile, on the edge. His entire body unsure if it wanted to crawl into a corner and die or destroy everything he could get his hands on.

“Tell me.” The playboy growled, tightening his grip on the man's hair, but he only got a chuckle in response. Bruce breathed through the anger, slowly forcing his hand to relax and he switched tactics. Instead he removed his forehead from the madman's which earned him a little pout. Which morphed into a stunned silence as he pressed a gentle kiss on the man's forehead. Bruce's hand moving from the maniac's hair and trailing down his scarred cheek. The Joker looked up at him, their eyes met.

“Tell me.” Bruce whispered and the Joker stared up at him with wide eyes.

“I...” The Joker searched Bruce's blue orbs for any deception, manipulation, repulsion.

“I,” The madman sighed, looking down at their bodies. So close together he could feel the heat radiating off the other.

“I wanted...” The maniac scoffed licking his lips, “I wanted... a family. One that.” The Joker turned his head away glancing at the door behind him, wondering if he should just leave instead of continue. He'd never told anyone anything like this why should he trust Batman? Bruce. The billionaire tugged the man back to him, placing his forehead just above the man's temple and the Joker caved.

“One that... wouldn't hurt.” The Joker admitted blandly. Bruce's eyes widened and he backed away from the man, his mind racing. Did that mean... but how could he have missed that? Wouldn't there have been signs? Notes in his school records, something?

“But everything hurts, love. That's why you gotta learn to love it! The burn.” The Joker turned back and leaned forward intending to show Bruce just how great it feels, his lips nearing the billionaire's, but he froze as the man spoke.

“You're parents... abused you? That's what... That's what I was missing. You, you were abused. You're aunt?” Bruce's eyes snapped to the Joker who sat back and shrugged almost nonchalantly returning his gaze to the billionaire.

“That's why you joined the criminal underground. They didn't take anything from you. They saved you. In a... twisted. Fucked up way.” Bruce muttered and the Joker chuckled, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“Told you. I've never lied to you. You know what really got to me though. Is.... that you. You hate me. So. Much. Yet...” The madman paused his brows creasing for a moment, then a bitter smile took over his face.

“You're. Really. The only one that. Cares...” The Joker laughed darkly. “Isn't that fucking irony for you?! I was going to just watch this city burn! But, no! You. You had to stop me! Again. But this time. You did save me. I just... Wasn't worth saving anymore. You knew that. I knew that. Yet you did it again, and again, and again that night.” The Joker trailed off with a reminiscent giggle, biting the bottom of his lip.

“Everyone is worth saving.” Bruce whispered back and then there was silence, the bitter smile growing on the madman's scarred face.

“And that.” The Joker muttered, tapping Bruce's chest with a finger.

“That. Right there. That's what. Kills. Me.” The Joker whispered shaking his head with a pained grin, water glistening in his eyes for the first time. The madman looked up at him, the smile dropping from his features and he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting across Bruce's lips.

“I don't want to be everyone.” The Joker gritted out, his eyes narrowing in anger.

“I want to be someone. To you. If that's your enemy then so be it! At least you know who I am. Not that we ever had much choice.” The madman stood up at that, walking out of the room and Bruce wanted to follow him. Demand to know why, but he knew why, the Joker just told him why. Why he was obsessed with him, why he constantly demanded his attention. Why he needed it. Needed him. Needed something to keep him grounded. To keep him this side of sane. When Batman first met the Joker he had planned on blowing up all of Gotham, himself included. He was homicidal, suicidal, and easily the most sadistic and twistedly morbid man he had ever met. After that day though... everything had been centered on their connection, it was no longer mindless mass destruction. It was easy to see he was obsessed but he wasn't suicidal anymore, not afraid of death, sure, but he didn't seek it out. He didn't blow anything and everything up just for kicks. He built his little empire instead of tearing everything down, sent every criminal figurehead running. Simply because he could.

What would it be like? To be abused your entire life? The schools had no reports on the matter. It couldn't have been that bad. The Joker... Jack had never been in the hospital. Not from unknown reasons. He had broken his arm once at school, fell out of a tree, it said he was trying to impress his classmates. Even then the man had no fear. He had never been in fights at school either. Nothing had pointed to a troubled home life. God. The Joker was Jack. Bruce bowed his head again, resting his forehead in his hands, slowly tightening his grip in his hair, his shoulders sagging. He wanted to pretend this was a good thing. That beautiful lost young man didn't die that day... but, what he had become... wasn't it worse?

“They're trying to get in! Just let me out cupcake!” The Joker whined from his reclined position sprawled out over the armchair, his feet thrown over one side, his hand propping his head up on the other armrest.

“And I'll get rid of them for us. I could use a little exercise and... blood bath.” The Joker trailed off with a sadistic chuckle, and Bruce had to perk his head up a little to hear his next whispered words, watching him stare at the door.

“You know the best part of someone dying? Watching their eyes. Slowly fade. Turn all glassy, and bulbous. Its really obvious when the soul isn't there anymore. You can usually tell when someone wont be coming back. Just! By looking at their eyes. Its a window into the soul you know!” The Joker laughed from the lounge chair just outside the security room, tilting his head back over the armrest, his brilliant green eyes locking with Bruce's. That was something the chemicals must of done. Jack Napier had blue eyes. Brilliant, vibrant, joyful blue eyes. The madman's green hair fell gently towards the ground leaving his face clear. Leaving that abnormally pale skin, the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheek bones, un-obscured. Bruce could see it. See the young man the Joker used to be through the sadistic, grinning smile. Through the warped twisted scars wrapping around his face. Well he had been right, the Joker had been beautiful. Bruce couldn't hold back the ironic laugh, running his hand through his hair. It was funny, because Jack Napier was... his obsession. The first person that didn't actually deserve to die, and one he could have saved, yet couldn't, hadn't. Bruce still had dreams, dreams that he had saved him. That he had gone on to become something in the world. Maybe a lawyer or actor, talk show host. Someone with respect and entertainment. The kid had always had a flair for the dramatics, Bruce had one of his recorded school plays. It was just a rehearsal. Stolen from a classmates computer. The playboy wasn't joking when he said he had no stops in his search. He had watched that thing over a hundred times, always in guilt, watching that joyful grin as he charmed the girls with his antics.

He could see it clearly, the jerky phone recording as the kid ran through his lines flawlessly, Shakespearean. A Midsummer Night's Dream, wooing the rather beautiful co-actress, but then he turned towards the camera halfway through, the sound of girls giggles sounding from around the recording. The kid would give a rather heart stopping smirk as the teacher berated him with an irritated, sighed, warning of 'Jack.' The blonde teen ignored her though instead hopping off the stage he knelt near the girl holding the camera. Taking a petite hand in one of his own, then another girls in the other. Giving each brief attention as he finished up his lines. He would lean forward then, kissing the back of each hand as the teacher got more forceful in her exasperation. The girls would giggle, those brilliant blue eyes would turn towards the camera giving it a sultry wink and he'd release the hands walking backwards towards the stage sending them all kisses. Bruce shook his head, forcing the memory out, because it didn't matter, in all essence, that kid was dead.

The Joker was laying it on rather thickly but he got his point through. This knowledge didn't change anything, couldn't change anything, because the Joker couldn't exist in a new world, Jack was already dead. The Joker was already the Joker, would always be. The Joker. Nothing would ever change who he was, but... What if Bruce helped him? Was the Joker... could he... be saved? Countless psychologists had been brought to the brink of madness just attempting to crack him. Could he? Should he? Was Jack still in there, somewhere? Bruce wanted to believe there was, but his heart wasn't with him. It didn't believe, couldn't bring itself to try. Bruce stood up, ignoring his roaring thoughts and confused feelings. The Joker was pouting at him in disappointment as he ignored him, instead turning towards the wall inside the security room, moving out of the man's view. He hit several hidden panels and the wall moved away, revealing a back up Batman suit. The Joker was there almost instantly, standing just behind him as they both gazed at the suit.

“Wait.” The Joker muttered the moment Bruce decided to get it over with. The madman shifted, gently lifting the back of the playboys blood soaked shirt. He hissed in sympathy gently touching a single finger to the flesh on his back.

“Never mind. Those aren't coming out without stitches.” The Joker whispered, lowering his shirt back down as gently as he could.

“Hows your arm?” Bruce asked, just remembering that the madman needed medical attention as well.

“It needs stitches too, but we're big boys. We can handle it.” The Joker insisted, patting the center of Bruce's back, not roughly but not entirely gentle either. The billionaire grunted in pain jerking out of reach and slapping the madman's hand away from him. He scowled at the grinning male as he tore the shirt off, letting the sight of his rather impressive abs distract the maniac, enough for him to shove the Joker out of the room without a complaint, not until it was too late. The madman still got a hand down his chest before he could shut the door on him, the touch burning on his skin. The Joker blinked for a few seconds before slamming a fist into the closed door as Bruce locked it, he was sure the maniac was yelling at him but he couldn't hear it. He quickly changed into the bat suit ignoring the stinging pain in his back. The suit was skin tight pressuring the shards of glass still in his back. He finished with the cowl, and opened the door again to find the Joker scowling, standing impatiently, on the other side. Instantly the madman's features shifted. His lips parting, his eyes wide as he took in the Bat before him. Bruce stalked past him, ignoring the man's awed look. It was one thing to see theory that Bruce was Batman another to actually see the transformation.

“Stay here.” Bruce growled, clicking open a hidden panel he slammed his fist against the release button. The door unlocked with a distinctive click. The Joker sent him a scathing look which Bruce returned, opening the door and slamming it behind him. A bullet instantly took him on his right shoulder, and he stumbled back a step. He should pay more attention to the actual threats. Detaching his grapple gun, he took aim, ripping the gun out of the masked assailant's hands. It was rather fitting for the surprised clown mask that looked back at him as he grappled the man again, pulling the enemy towards him he slammed a fist into his face, knocking him to the ground unconscious. Another man turned the corner down the hall as the first one fell and open fired. Bruce used the same trick, pulling the gun out of the man's hands, before he was slugged in the back with another shot, turning around he found two men coming from behind. He scowled, he didn't have all of his updated security belt. He threw the old glue bomb at them and the device didn't detonate. The men looked up from the contraption, leveling their guns on him again as the man down the other side of the hall picked up his gun, advancing towards the vigilante, unwilling to fire with his comrades on the other side. Finally the glue detonated, splattering the men in sticky substance, they snarled angrily tugging against the new bonds. The man advancing aimed his gun again, and Batman threw another grenade. This time it instantly exploded, covering the other man, but the solution wasn't holding like it used to. The two men he had first hit already had their movement back and were clicking their guns uselessly. They threw them down, stalking down the hallway towards Batman, who easily countered their first attack, sweeping around the man to slam an elbow into his friend's face. The first man stumbled, fixing his footing while the second one's head smashed into the wall. The vigilante brought a boot up to roundhouse kick the thug that had just found his footing, catching him in the jaw and sending him into a closed door, the wood smashing under the hit. The door behind him opened, as he countered the single man left.

“What's taking so long?” The Joker asked in boredom, Batman moved in to uppercut the man when the door he had just slammed a thugs face into crashed open. Forcing him to back little into the safe room. The man that opened the door quickly jumped out of the way revealing another thug with a fucking rocket launcher. Bruce's eyes widened and he hurled himself backwards into the Joker, throwing the door to the safe room closed. He shifted his weight and threw his body forward, but not fast enough to completely close it. The door crashed open with the screams of pain from whoever was left in the hallway after the explosion. Batman flew backwards from the force, narrowly avoiding taking the Joker with him into a pile of chairs. Bruce grunted in pain, pushing himself off the ground as something clattered into the room with a thunk, rolling towards him. It was a grenade. Batman didn't waste time, snatching it from the floor and throwing it back, still on his knees, as another one fell into the room. He didn't bother with this one instead he scrambled around, sweeping the Joker off his feet from his spot in the center of the room. Batman hit the farthest wall hard with his shoulder not bothering to slow himself down. He clicked open another latch and slammed his fist into another button, tightening his grip around the Joker's waist. The ground beneath them fell away and his stomach flew into his chest as they plummeted. Light flared just as their head's cleared the floor. The sound of the explosion and shaking were swept away as they were shot down, the door closing above them cutting off the rampaging flames. Batman held on tightly to the Joker as they fell into a shaft beneath the mansion. The large landing pad cushioning their fall, enough to keep them alive, but still leaving some painful bruising.

“What the fuck just happened?” The Joker whispered, his fingers clenched in Batman's cape. Bruce shoved the madman off himself, none too gently.

“Let's go. I need to get this chip to Oracle before they can track it through the jammers.” Batman muttered, rolling off the re-inflating padding and onto the ground, landing gracefully. The Joker crawled after him sliding off the landing pad with a little woo of joy. Bruce started down the small passageway, ignoring the faulty flickering lights as he went, trying to ignore the fact that he would have to rebuild the mansion from scratch for a second time.

“Now that! Was fun! Next time, I wanna go by myself and see if I can bounce a few times!” The Joker giggled, dancing along behind him.

“No.” Batman stated and the Joker laughed, closing the distance between them so he was barely a step behind.

“You're such a fun killer, you know that. You kill fun. How does that make you feel Bats? You actually kill something.” The Joker gasped mockingly, and the vigilante rolled his eyes. Glad they didn't need to walk the entire way to the Bat Cave. They came to an intersection with a small platform in the center. Batman hopped over the guard rails and onto the metal platform, his cape billowing behind him and he flipped a few switches on the small console that was between the guard rails on one side. The Joker slipped underneath the bars popping back up near the Dark Knight.

“So what exact – .” The platform shot off down one of the tunnels and The Joker scrambled for something to hold on to. Falling back into the railings behind him, he held on as the platform zipped down the corridors, the lights just a long blur as they passed them. Suddenly the platform came to a stop, not jerking them around, but not quite a smooth reduce in speed, either. Metal doors slid apart ahead of them and the platform slipped through, finally coming to a full stop. Batman immediately hopped onto the railings vaulting off into the black cavernous hole in front of them.

“Wa – hey!” The Joker shouted rushing to that side of the platform, he froze. Taking in the large metal platform suspended in the middle of the massive cave. A large computer and supplies littered around the place. Electronics sending an eerie blue glow out to die in the darkness that ate at the edges of the cave. Walkways crisscrossed, fell and rose, around the cave, makeshift rooms erected with wires and pipes leading to and from them. Batman soared across the caved making a circle around the open area before landing gracefully on the main platform.

“Oracle.” His voice echoed through the cave, scuttling and chirps startling the madman as the ceiling stories above him lit up with reflective red eyes, a few bats sailing down chaotically before ascending into the darkness again.

“Holy shit!” A girl gasped, almost falling off the squeaky chair in front of the computer.

“Bruce?! What are you doing down here?!” The woman asked and the Joker knew that voice. Knew it very well, enjoyed it even while she screamed in pain, pleaded for mercy.

“I need you to isolate this tracking device, while keeping us off the radar.” Batman demanded, placing the dried bloody chip onto the computer desk.

“Umm... okay.” The girl stuttered, and Bruce walked across the platform a little pulling something out of a filing cabinet.

“And put this on.” Batman insisted, shoving a mask into the girl's hands.

“Barbara Gordon! Long time no see. The mask is a little redundant, love. I had wondered where Batgirl had gotten off to, guess I have my answer. Seems I killed two birds with one stone? Or Bats?” The Joker laughed leaning against the railing.

“Oh my god. What is he doing here? You brought him here?!” Barbara stuttered, shrill panic filling her voice.

“The mansion is gone.” Bruce stated in reply and the girl looked him like he was insane.

“What do you mean gone?” She asked quietly.

“They delivered an explosive to the house. The Joker was able to disarm it, but they blew the room up that contained it.”

“So. You mean. It's like... gone? Gone?” Barbara asked entirely confused as to what she should be feeling more right now, fear for the Joker or the people blowing up mansions. Which was normally the Joker.

“Bats! Babe. How do I get down from here?” The Joker asked casually, glancing around his position rather far away from everyone else. Bruce had half a mind to leave him up there, but he'd probably wander back into the tunnels and either get lost or get out.

“The ladder, to you're right.” Batman informed him and Barbara's hand grabbed fearfully onto his forearm wide pleading eyes staring at him.

“You've got to be kidding me.” The Joker muttered staring down at the ridiculously long rickety ladder.

“You can't bring him here! Don't let him near me. What were you thinking. I can't do this. I can't do this.” Barbara stuttered almost going into shock, her breathing elevated.

“Shhh.” Bruce whispered placing a gloved hand on her own shaking one.

“He won't touch you. Right Joker. You won't touch her.” Batman asked turning his dangerous gaze to the madman who was slowly making his way down the precarious ladder covered in bat shit.

“Or what?! you'll beat me up?” The Joker called down to him, startling a few more bats that swooped around the space.

“No. I won't talk to you. Ever.” Batman stated, narrowing his eyes.

“Ouch. Fine. Fine. You play a hard bargain.” The madman conceded, scowling at the shit covering his hands. “Can't promise she'll stay away from me though.”

“This isn't a bargain.” The Dark Knight insisted, crossing his arms menacingly.

“You know. You're so cute! When you're angry! Here catch!” The Joker called to him and Batman rushed forward without thinking, diving over the side of the platform to snatch whatever the madman had tossed, out of the air, before it could plummet into darkness. He swooped around and grappled back up to the main area, hopping onto the platform and taking a few steps away from the edge, before bothering to look down at the object in his hand. Surrounded by the black fabric of his gloves was a rectangular item, the ends of the rectangle looked like they plugged into something, little metal outlets jutting out. While on the inside neon green liquid swirled on one side, while a dark purple sludge sat on the other, the two substances were divided by an inky black chamber. Two black strips lead down two of the sides, connecting to the dividers separating the liquids.

“What is this?” Batman asked the maniac who was almost to the lower platform.

“That?! Oh, that's just the bomb!” The Joker giggled, dropping the last few feet onto the metal mesh.

“Pretty isn't it?” The madman asked trying to figure out which way lead to the main platform.

“What do you mean it's the bomb?” Bruce asked skeptically trying to figure out what the liquids were.

“You know. The one that I made.” The Joker replied irritated, like he was talking to a dumb henchman.

“You mean the one we left in the mansion?” Batman asked slowly suddenly realizing what this could mean.

“No the one you. Thought. We left in the mansion. Lucky for you I snagged it! Wasn't sure what I'd do with it, but it seemed like a better idea to carry around the highly reactive compounds instead of leaving it laying around somewhere like a safe room.” The Joker laughed, frowning as he realized he had met a dead end cluttered with boxes.

“So the mansion wasn't blown up.” Bruce muttered to himself turning to the computer and typing in a few commands, the mansions video surveillance popped up. He typed in a bit more and got static, he cycled through the camera's a little until he reached one that could survey the wreckage of the middle of his mansion, the roof had collapsed a little from the explosions, but the rest of the mansion seemed intact. Batman turned his attention back to the Joker who was finally making his way towards the main platform. The Dark Knight leaned down next to the quivering girl.

“Don't call him by his real name. He can't know, you know. Ever.” Bruce warned the girl and then stood back up, just as the Joker scrambled onto the platform.

“Where's Robin and Alfred?” Batman asked, checking out a few more cameras.

“They heard the explosion and went to check it out.” The girl muttered her eyes never leaving the madman.

“Call them back and get to work on that chip.” Bruce insisted, straightening back up.

“Of course.” Oracle stuttered, picking the tracking device up.

“Follow me.” Batman growled out to the madman who simply raised an eyebrow, following the vigilante without a word, sending the girl a chillingly sadistic smirk as he passed. Bruce lead them down a spiral walkway and underneath the main platform. Into a room that looked startlingly like the makeshift hospital one they had in the mansion.

“Sit down.” The Dark Knight demanded gesturing towards the bed. The Joker thought briefly about defying him but hopped onto the bed with a sigh, he was too tired for this right now. Bruce took a look at his new wound, the Joker hadn't been lying when he said it was a graze but it was deeper than just a scratch and definitely needed stitches, which he supposed the madman had told him as well. He snatched up some disinfectant from one of the counters, pouring some on a gauze he tried to clean away the dried blood, which simply made room for fresh instead. Bruce cleaned it to the best of his abilities, before moving to sew it up. The Joker sat quietly through the whole affair, his eyes sagging a little as time ticked by. Finally he was done and he sat in the rolling chair, moving in towards the bed, he felt just as tired as the madman looked and they sat there lost in their own thoughts for a few minutes, not really noticing they were staring at eachother, before the sound of footsteps interrupted them. Batman knew who was walking down the catwalks before they even came into view, but the Joker's head snapped up, taking in the new arrivals. Robin was all but running down the spiral walkway, his footsteps echoing through the cave.

“Bruce. Are you okay?” The teen asked stopping just in front of him, but out of the madman's reach.

“I'm fine.” Bruce replied, scuffing up the kids hair.

“Don't lie to the kid. It's not like you can hide those wounds for long.” The Joker muttered sourly, glaring at that hand.

“Master Bruce. Are you in need of assistance?” Alfred asked worriedly stepping forward.

“Yeah. I – .” Bruce started but the Joker instantly cut him off.

“He has glass shards all over his back! And instead of taking them out, he pushed them further in. Naughty boy.” The Joker laughed, tutting in disappointment a few times, before laughing some more.

“Master Bruce?” Alfred asked him for confirmation of the maniac's words.

“Just help me get them out.” Bruce muttered glaring at the Joker who smirked back at him, kicking his feet a little in joy.

“Why does that not surprise me.” Alfred muttered stepping towards the vigilante.

“Well then out of the suit, I seem to have my work cut out for me.” Alfred insisted and Bruce stood up, peeling off the top half of his costume, holding back the winces of pain. Robin hissed in sympathy as well when he got a good look at it.

“Ouch. That's going to hurt for awhile.” The teen said, almost acting like the Joker didn't even exist, avoiding looking in his general direction at all.

“Onto the bed for me, sir.” Alfred suggested, and the Joker immediately hopped off as Batman stood up, he danced around the topless vigilante, running a hand across his stomach, before falling into the chair, rolling back and into the counter with a giggle, his arms and hands thrown out as he slid across the floor. He spun the chair and pushed off the counter rolling back towards the bed, he threw his feet down narrowly stopping the chair from slamming into the elderly man. Bruce settled down face first onto the bed, leveling the madman with a stern glare, that promised pain if he didn't stay put. The Joker simply giggled again, leaning forward he settled his crossed arms next to Bruce's face, placing his own grinning mug right next to the vigilante's. The Dark Knight closed his eyes in irritation, after a few long moments of Alfred rustling around him he opened them again, to find the Joker gazing quietly back at him. His face was relaxed, his vibrant green eyes soft, his lips meeting the scar perfectly to cast the illusion that he was still smiling even though his entire face was blank. Bruce hissed in pain as Alfred sadistically poured antiseptic across his back, the liquid sliding down his skin and into the bed. It was insane how bright the madman's irises were. They started off a dark forest green near the pupil, spiking out to a vibrant absinthe glow. Like the color of green apples but ones that had their own stars inside. Letting off their own light. If he looked past that green though he could see speckles of a darker green, and towards the outer edges, the familiar brilliant blue Bruce had stared at for months peeked through, almost drowned out by the green but still there. Slowly those eyes slid shut and the vigilante turned his attention towards his scars instead. Taking in their jagged knitting as Alfred pulled more glass out of his back, quickly sewing up the wounds. Those scars looked painful, they shot in different directions as if whoever had created them had slipped or the Joker had jerked away, forcing him to start again. Bruce closed his eyes, remembering that it was his fault that happened to the man. No. Not entirely his fault. Jack should have never joined the criminal underground. Should never have tried to move up the ranks, should have reigned in his boredom. And Bruce should have been quicker. Should have been smarter, faster, better.

Bruce startled away by his name being called softly.

“Bruce. Master Bruce.” Alfred called to him and he opened his eyes not realizing he had closed them, to find a beautiful man sleeping inches away from him, then the vigilante noticed the edges of the scars peaking onto his skin, and the unnatural green of his hair and he realized it was the Joker. He tore his attention from the man glancing back at his old friend.

“I'm done sir. Might I suggest some actual rest in the nap room.” Alfred stated as he pulled off his gloves. Bruce nodded his head, pushing away from the hospital cot, holding back a groan of pain. His entire back felt like it was on fire.

“I would also suggest a pain killer sir.” Alfred insisted, holding out a single pill and Bruce pushed it away, sitting up farther. The Joker's eyes snapped open, quickly glancing around the room. The vigilante wanted to stretch his muscles as he twisted his legs over the edge of the bed, but didn't want to rip the stitches.

“Come on.” Bruce muttered to the now half awake madman, who had laid his head back down the moment he knew where he was. The half naked Batman hopped off the bed, not bothering to pull up the suit. The Joker lazily pushed away from the bed, standing up when Bruce started making his way out of the room. He lead them through a few other rooms, getting father down in the cave. He finally opened a door to a sealed room, and gestured the sleepy madman inside. The Joker gave him a once over as he made his way into the room. Bruce followed after him shutting the door behind him which instantly shut out the little sounds the cave made, the little rushes of air, or echoing scuttles, the steady dripping of water. The vigilante pushed the Joker towards one of the twin cots framing the room. The madman stumbled a little his knees slamming into the bed. Batman sat down on one of them, and the maniac turned around to scowl at him, pushing away from the bed.

“Go to sleep.” The vigilante insisted, reaching up and ripping his face mask off.

“You go to sleep.” The madman huffed sitting down on the cot across from the billionaire, barely missing smacking his head on the bed above it. Bruce sighed, reaching a hand up onto the cot above him he tore down a shirt from the pile of clothes sitting folded on the neatly made bed. He painfully pulled the shirt on, wincing every so often when he pulled his stitches a little too far. Finally he pulled the clothing into place, and he twisted around, pulling his feet onto the bed. He almost fell lazily onto his back, but stopped instead settling irritably onto his side, not bothering to take off the lower half of the batman suit. He closed his eyes, he'd only be able to lightly nap though, he'd have to keep an eye out for the Joker slipping out of the room. He was usually a pretty light sleeper, but the Joker was equally light on his feet. The bed in front of him sagged and his eyes snapped open in time to take in the Joker sliding onto the bed with him. He lifted his arm up, keeping it from getting crushed by the madman, who turned his back to the vigilante. The Joker's back was pressed up along Bruce, his heat radiating into Bruce's skin. The billionaire scowled in anger placing his hand on the maniac's side, ready to shove him off the bed, then he stopped. Rethinking the situation. If the Joker was this close to him, he couldn't simply slip out of the room. Bruce would awaken instantly almost anytime the man made a move. Instead his hand slid around the madman's stomach, careful of the bruises he knew littered the man's skin. Maybe this way he could actually get some real rest without being constantly on the lookout. He left his arm around the male, almost like a safety strap, digging his hand into the sheets beneath them.

“I'm a light sleeper. Don't even try to leave.” Bruce muttered, laying his head back down against the pillow. The Joker's hair barely touching his face, but the madman didn't answer. Already asleep next to him. The vigilante scoffed, pulling the man closer to him, closing his eyes as well.

The door to the room slammed open and Bruce startled awake, the body next to his jerking as well. Alfred stalked into the room a grim expression on his face.

“Sir. There has been a Joker attack.” Just as quickly as he had shown up, he was gone, and Bruce was left with the warmth pressed along the length of his body.

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Chapter whatever the fuck this is DONE! Bahahaha you get to know what position they ended up in next chapter! I know I'm evil... REVIEW AND SHIT DAMN IT! I feed on them. FEED! Om nom nom reviews. If I don't get into College I'ma write a book. How backwards is that? lol


	11. Just Shut Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Joker threatens the city, and Bruce isn't too keen on how the whole night could turn out.

Hey yo! Keep bugging me and you shall receive :P I finished Arkham Origin. So I haven't had much inspiration. Sad faces I know. Knight should be out soon WOOOO! I know the Joker isn't in it... but still. Lol. I didn't think this chapter would be long. Because I have literally written it four? Five times from scratch. Expanded, then scraped it. I have like three .docs that say Batman11revised in them. Lol. But I'm happy with this outcome and again. A lot longer than I had planned. SO YAY!

Chapter 11

Shattered Identities

Just Shut Up

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Bruce lifted his head to stare at the faded outline Alfred left in his wake. The muscles in his neck straining as they tried to keep up his, tired, fuzzy head. He blinked several times, his brain catching up with the events of the day before. Slowly they flitted through his mind, and his mood immediately fell. He let his head fall back to the pillow, his muscles relaxing when his brain realized he wasn't in any immediate danger. The warmth of the body next to him seeping into his bones. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, immediately regretting the action. Soft strands of hair tickled his nose, filling his senses with the smell of his shampoo, reminding him of the relaxation of a pleasant shower. But there were hints of other smells. Gunpowder, chemicals and leather. Just beneath the surface. Igniting memories of when his parents died. His first chemistry set and the numerous sizzling explosions that proceeded. When he had first fired a gun, the unease and alienation of the action. His mentors up close rearranging his stance, the respect and honor he felt in their presence. Adrenaline from being shot at from point blank. The slamming of the chamber, wiz of the bullet, smell of the powder, the laughter. New cars, woman, The Joker. Bruce opened his eyes, letting the light of the room chase away the feelings and faint memories. Until the only thing dancing across his mind was the image of a grinning madman. The Joker. Because that was his smell. Bruce remembered rather vividly the first time he had met the madman. The Joker, not who he... who he used to be. The black mask plastered on his face. The way he held himself, like he had all the power in the world as he walked around the true owner of that mask. His arms tightened in anger at the memory. Frustration at how useless he had been, how in control the madman was.

A sharp inhale of breath brought Bruce back to the present. The faded green hair shifted across the pillow, the soft curls gliding across Bruce's face. The billionaire's arms loosened as the madman moved a hand to grip at his wrist, and Bruce held back a bitter laugh. It was pretty funny, pretty damn hilarious. He had never slept next to someone. Not like this. Not wrapped in them. His arms around their frame, his face in their hair. His feet tangled in their own. Sure he had slept with people, gotten the release he had needed, but never actually fell asleep with them. Around them. It was too dangerous. All it took was a simple nightmare. A flash back. Was all it took and he could... might, hurt them. Kill them. Without even knowing what he was doing. It was funny... because the Joker was different. Sturdier. The man could, and had, taken anything he could dish out short of snapping his neck. Which would probably still be quite the task. How long had it been since he had slept next to someone? Felt their warmth for longer than a few minutes? It was funny. Ironically hilarious. Bruce closed his eyes and tightened his hold again, because he wanted to... because the madman could take it. He curled closer to him pulling in his warmth basking in the action of actually holding someone tight. His version of tight wasn't something woman could handle. He just wanted to feel solid, have them feel solid. The Joker only gave a weak mumbled protest, tilting his head back with a light squirm, before settling back down. His head lazily turned and he tried to twist in the billionaire's hold. Attempting to get a look at the man squeezing him to death. But Bruce's head stayed on the pillow and out of his sight, his nose brushing the skin just behind the Joker's ear. Bruce released him at the touch, backing up a few inches.

“Hate me for breathing now? Or are you just the snuggling type?” The Joker whispered with an air of content, relaxing into his new position on his back, his face turned towards the billionaire. Bruce scoffed, slowly disentangling his legs from the madman's. Not admitting how much he missed their warmth when he finally managed without the Joker saying anything.

“Morning to you too, tall, dark and silent.” The madman mumbled in complaint when the billionaire didn't reply. Looks like someone woke up on the right side of the bed, and the playboy was feeling vindictive. Bruce sent him a smirk that made the Joker's brows crease, the smile falling off his face. He opened his mouth to comment, but didn't get much of a chance. The vigilante sat up swiftly, using the arm the Joker was lying to flip him off the edge of the bed. The madman scrambled for purchase as the world suddenly tipped. Pulling the blankets with him as he landed on the ground in a heap. The playboy chuckled at the indignant sound the maniac huffed out when he hit the floor. Bruce sat all the way up, resisting the urge to stretch his arms behind his back or over his head. Fearful of pulling some stitches. The Joker thrashed around under the blanket until he could throw it off his head. He was revealed in a flurry, his hair full of static, sticking up at odd angles. He scowled up at the playboy who was smiling down at him like it was the best wake up gift ever.

“Thanks.” The Joker stated sarcastically, “That's just the way I like to get up in the morning. Why you're single! Is beyond me.” Bruce shook his head, ignoring the man's indignant tone. They needed to get going. Who knew what the fake madman was up to. They didn't have time for morning banter. Alfred hadn't really stuck around to explain the situation. Not that the billionaire could blame him. He'd be freaked out finding anyone simply laying next to the Joker and not strangling him to death. Not that it would matter. Lately it seemed everything Bruce did was against the man's wishes, so what was another disappointment on top of the piling list? He'd bet entertaining the madman's obsession was currently at the top of said list.

“God, you are. A piece of work. You know that Bats? Bipolar. Schizophrenic.” The Joker mumbled to himself as he tried to disentangle his lower half from the sheets. Bruce frowned, bending over the edge of the bed, he made a show of searching the room.

“What?” The madman asked grumpily, dropping the blankets to follow his gaze. The billionaire just shrugged sitting back up on the bed.

“Nothing, just, trying to find what mirror you're looking at.” The playboy stated, trying to keep the smile from his face. The Joker's glare deepened and then a smirk graced his face.

“I don't need a mirror while you're still breathing.” The Joker countered, and Bruce's smile fell from his face. The madman childishly kicked at the sheets and attempted to stand up, but his feet were still tangled. He let out a huff of frustration sitting back on the floor.

“Just making sure.” The billionaire muttered throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He was glad the madman wasn't feeling particularly aggressive today. He'd rather not talk about their previously entangled state. Bruce recalled the almost crushing hold, and shoved it to the back of his mind. Anyone else and he probably would have almost broken a rib. The billionaire stood up with the intentions of slipping past the madman and getting the door open. He didn't make it far however. The Joker immediately lunged forward, quickly grabbing a hold of Bruce's leg. The vigilante gritted his teeth, taking a deep breath, glaring down at the grinning face of the man below him. The hands held onto the back of his calf with an iron clad grip, refusing to let him tug his leg back. He debated kicking the man in the teeth, but his thoughts quickly derailed to something else, because the Joker stared up at him with heated eyes. Bruce didn't want to name the emotions flashing behind those vibrantly green irises.

“Can I help you?” The words were past Bruce's lips before he could give them a second thought, and he instantly wanted to take them back. Baiting the Joker right now wasn't the best idea. The Joker tossed his head back with an exasperated sigh.

“Oh, if only you would!” The madman giggled tightening his grip. Bruce could feel his hold through the old suits under armor, which was saying something.

“Let go.” The vigilante demanded, tugging at his leg a little more forcefully. The madman simply chuckled, shuffling onto his knees and leaning in closer. The Joker dragged his eyes leisurely down the billionaire's body, biting his scarred lip and Bruce cursed himself for letting his guard down. Even if the attack wasn't the physically painful kind. The madman ran the hand on the back of his thigh up higher, and Bruce gritted his teeth against the sensation. Despite the thick layer, it felt like the maniac's touch seared his skin, heated his flesh. The hand stopped on his upper thigh, and the Joker closed his eyes, parting his lips. He turned his head, pressing it up against Bruce's inner thigh.

“I promise I'll be a good boy.” The Joker whispered, gazing up at the billionaire with half lidded eyes.

“We can have some fun.” The madman insisted, finally turning his head to press his naturally red lips against Bruce's inner thigh. While the Joker's grip was searing, those lips were an electric shock coursing instantly through Bruce's veins. His hand snapped forward yanking the maniac away with a fist full of green curls.

“Get up.” The vigilante growled out, tightening his grip on the man's hair. Ignoring the the reaction his body decided to have at the man's proximity. The Joker simply giggled, the hand on his inner thigh ascending father.

“I'm working on it.” The madman suggested, biting his lip. Bruce snarled when that hand got a little too close to a place it had no right being. He didn't give the madman another warning, instead he tore the Joker's head farther back, shifted his weight and kneed the man hard in the jaw. Releasing the maniac as he hit, the madman flew backwards, narrowly missing the bed's edge on the other side of the small room. He slammed hard into the floor, the sound echoing through the small room. Bruce returned to a ready stance, uncertain of retaliation, while the Joker rolled to his side with a groan of pain.

“Ow.” The madman stated, followed by a quiet giggle and a shake of his head, like getting the air knocked out of him was a great pass time. His hand moved up to touch his jaw tenderly.

“One step forward, two steps back. Gotta love the way we dance, Bats.” The Joker chuckled to himself, wiping away some blood dribbling down the corner of his mouth. Bruce made a decision, he couldn't handle another full night of this.

“I don't dance, and I'm tired of you're molestation. You're going into the Batcell while I stop you're psychotic other half. So stand up and shut up.” The vigilante demanded stepping forward to tower menacingly over the maniac. The madman blinked up at him like he didn't quite understand what he was saying.

“Batcell... Batcell. Like an actual prison cell?!” The Joker let out a huff of amusement, finally sitting up.

“Bats, Bats, Bats! Arkham's cells can't hold me! What the hell makes you think yours will?! I'm not going into some cell. You pour enough money into that pig sty and here I stand! Yet again!” The Joker laughed throwing his arms out in one grand gesture. He leaned forward then, looking up at Bruce with mock confusion.

“What makes you think. Even for a second. That yours would do any better?” The madman asked with a vicious smile and Bruce gritted his teeth, flexing fists that were itching to slam into the maniac's face. He knew for a fact it wouldn't hold him for the whole night, but maybe, maybe. It would hold him long enough for Bruce to get the job done. That's all he could really ask for. He didn't have time, patience, nor the willpower to play these games all night. The madman's eyes suddenly brightened.

“You know what!” The Joker suddenly exclaimed, slapping his knees. He thrust his hands forward wrists facing Bruce.

“Chain me up Doc! And throw me in the cellar!” The Joker cackled shaking his hands for emphasis. Then the smile faded and he looked up at the vigilante like he was going to break some bad news.

“But.” the madman stated, flipping his hands over and splaying his fingers. He leaned forward gazing up at Bruce with sadistic amusement, obviously trying to hide the grin.

“If I get out.” The madman whispered seriously, the sadistic grin slowly cracking across his face.

“I'm going to. Kill. Everyone I see. Until you stop me.” The Joker said slowly finishing with a dark chuckle.

“Barbara, Tim, Alfred. The man next door. The woman walking her newborn down the street. Such a cute little tike! The children playing in the street, the police men. That try to stop me. This list could get extremely long. Don't you think?” The Joker asked, gazing up at Bruce with a victorious smile. The playboy ground his teeth, shaking his head. There had to be an end. He was putting his foot down. It didn't matter what he said. The vigilante need to take back control of this situation. Of his life. His emotions. Of everything.

“No. I'm done with our little compromises. You're going in the cell and I'm dealing with your copy cats.” Bruce stated almost not sure why he was even bothering to tell the madman his decisions. He should really just throw him in the cell and be done with it. Why did he keep listening. Keep talking?

“Oh come on!” The Joker exclaimed rocking back dramatically.

“So I wanted to stay and have some fun! Fucking sue me!” The madman hissed gesturing to his chest as he scrambled to his feet.

“It doesn't warrant putting me in a fucking cage! I've been goooood! Haven't I?!” The Joker whined already back in Bruce's personal bubble. The vigilante stood firm, crossing his arms in defiance, meeting those startling green eyes. They stared each other down for several long seconds. Neither of them blinking. Surprisingly. It was the Joker who broke first. The madman huffed a deep sigh dropping his head to his chest. Slowly he started nodding his head.

“Fine. Fine. But I will get out, Bruce.” The Joker whispered stepping even closer to the vigilante. His face now inches away.

“And I will destroy. Everything. You have left.” The maniac tilted his head watching the other man's lips thin.

“Make's Hush's job easier. But hey, beggars can't be choosers now can they?” He asked meeting Bruce's eyes again. He slowly took a step back.

“Besides, you have such lovely equipment around. I mean I have a lot of options. I could... hack your computer.” The Joker threw his right hand up with a shrug.

“Oh! Don't forget all that equipment you have lying around! Pretty sure. I saw. Some F. U. N! Toys laying around just. Dying! To be used properly! I mean I can actually show you how to use those gadgets of yours. There are many, many, ways to kill someone with a batarang! Did you know that?” The Joker asked suddenly in all seriousness, like he was stating a fact about birds or the weather. Bruce wanted to slam his head against a wall, after he slammed the Joker's, of course. The man was right, he had too much shit lying around. The last thing he wanted was to see how many people his glue gun could kill. The computer would take the madman a solid five hours at the least, but he'd get there eventually, and sending the group to a different Bat Cave would be pointless if the Joker was just out on a mission for genocide. He should just lock him up. Just to show him he wasn't scared, wasn't worried. But he was. He wouldn't let his pride jeopardize some random civilian's life just because he doesn't want to take the madman out for a night on the town.

The Joker took the time he was using to think it over to walk a hand up his chest. Singing the itsy bitsy spider song under his breath as he did it. Apparently the billionaire was taking too long. Bruce took a deep breath, feeling a headache starting to throb behind his eyes. This was already a shitty night and he had just woken up. Why not just make it shittier?

“Fine.” Bruce gave in, snatching the hand walking past his collar bone away from his body, and throwing it back at the madman. They really didn't have time for this. For all he knew the fake Joker had fifty hostages and was threatening to kill one every half hour he didn't show up.

“But you step one, toe. Out of line. And I will personally. Put. You. Down.” Bruce stated blandly, his tone void of emotion. Showing the Joker that he was dead serious, and it wasn't just the Bat making the promise. Bruce Wayne would crush him. They weren't playing games anymore. Not today. No more revelations, or world tipping. No more mind fucks.

“Isn't that how the story usually goes?” The Joker asked, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head. Bruce simply glared, hoping the madman understood how serious he was. Growling he reached up. Grabbing the back of the Joker's neck, before the maniac could protest. He tightened his grip ignoring the soft curls brushing his hand. He steered the madman towards the door. Leaned forward to throw it open, and shoved the man out of the room. The Joker squawked indignantly and stumbled onto the walkway that was completely void of safety protocols, like railings.

“Alright! Alright! I'm walking! I'm walking.” The Joker hissed raising his hands up in surrender. Bruce slowly trailed behind as the madman pretended to know where they were going, humming a little song as he went. Their foots steps echoed in the humid cavern. The little tune fading off into the darkness above to be answered back with flitted wings and high pitched squeaks. The vigilante couldn't help but imagine for a moment that the green mop of hair was actually blonde, that the skip in the madman's step was from actual happiness and not sadistically cruel humor. And he could almost see it. Almost see the man the Joker... Jack, would have become. But no, Bruce shook his head, he was wrong.

The man, boy, Bruce had built Jack up to be was wrong. He had wanted to ignore the signs. Pretend... but now that he knew who Jack was, what he had become. He could see it. Couldn't pretend any more. Jack had always been different, even from the start, he understood traumatic events, but the man's life wasn't so bad, he had never ended up in the hospital. The abuse his parents supposedly wrought on him wasn't horrific. There had always been pieces. Pieces of the Joker. Even before that night. The night that changed Jack's life forever. Falling into a vat of chemicals was traumatic, yeah, but that doesn't make crazy, that doesn't give birth to intelligent insanity.

When someone breaks they're broken, pieces of them fall away lost forever in the sea of madness. They lose themselves to jumbled words and miss wired brain lines. Nothing connects correctly. Sure, things can push humans over the edge, but it wasn't the same. The world had two kinds of people. It was the same edge, the same cliff, but some don't fall off it, crashing into the jagged rocks below. Mind shattering as they hit. No, some of them, they jumped. Diving head first into the murky waters of insanity instead. Embracing it. Surviving it. Some would argue they were sociopaths, but was Bruce a sociopath? Had he jumped or fallen? Had he ever even seen the edge, he was pretty sure most psychologists would see him as crazy in many venues, but what kind of crazy? Certainly he had never shown the signs that Jack had before all of this. Was crazy born? Or bred? The Joker. Jack. Had always had less fear than everyone else. Bruce had been afraid as a child, of heights, fire, darkness. But not Jack. There were school reports of Jack's fearlessness, jumping onto the school's roof, riding his bike down the playground slide, crashing into other kids. A brazen recklessness that left its mark.

“Head right.” Bruce stated, correcting the madman's course. The Joker turned his head back at him with a sheepish grin and the billionaire was sure that smile would have melted hearts without the scars. Jack had always been good with people, they flocked to him like moths to a flame. What Bruce didn't want to see however, was how he had manipulated them. Knew just how to push their buttons, just enough prodding to cause some strife between each other. When Bruce had said he had combed through all the information he hadn't lied... he had retrieved internet conversations, texts, phone calls, everything he could get his hands on. Whenever something major had happened in his friends lives... there was always whispers. Of him. He would play both sides, silently instigating more hatred. Bruce had pretended it was just Jack trying to keep his friends, it was so subtle, such naive harmless comments that would tip them over the edge. Jack... the Joker. Had always been a master manipulator, the rise in high school suicides while he attended wasn't a coincidence. Had Bruce been wrong? Had Jack simply been a high functioning sociopath before all of this? What if the man in front of him... was Jack Napier. What if... What if that night... wasn't a turning point, but more of a... Shove. In the same direction. What if Jack Napier was always the Joker. Always going to be a homicidal criminal overlord? To be honest. If Batman hadn't of shown up... Jack would have been The Red Hood, there was no question about it. He could have gone on, built the empire regardless of the scars. God, that empire would be unbeatable. A beautiful charismatic, fearless, homicidal man running the scum of Gotham. The criminals would flock to him like flies to fruit. If the man before him was Jack Napier... did that mean. Was the Joker... his obsession? Bruce had spent an equal amount of time researching the Joker, painstaking hours of sleepless nights, as he had Jack. So what if Jack had really never died, simply grew into his own? Where did that leave Bruce?

“What's up beefcake?!” The Joker suddenly asked, but maybe it wasn't so sudden. Bruce snapped out of his thoughts only to realize they had stopped walking and he didn't know for how long. The madman was facing him, with a little amused smile on his face. Still in his personal bubble, of course. All Bruce really had to do was lean forward a little and they would be touching.

“Nothing.” Bruce muttered, staring into those startling green eyes. That was something Batman had changed. The green used to be blue. Such a beautiful blue, but now they were inhuman. Bruce tried to imagine those eyes on anyone else, and realized that despite the sadistic gleam they were just as beautiful, and the long dark lashes didn't help any. The Joker gave him a genuine smile that lit up his eyes.

“And they call me bi-polar.” The madman whispered the smile turning into a smirk. Bruce roughly brushed past him, ignoring all the warring emotions inside. He felt guilty, confused, elated, fearful, angry, worried. Relieved. It was his fault Jack was insane, wasn't it? Jack was alive, he hadn't let a kid die. But, what had he done in it's stead? It wasn't his fault though, he had no control over the situation. But, how would he handle all of this? He hadn't killed Jack. Jack was alive, breathing, laughing... if you could call it that. But, what had he done to Jack's life, to both their lives?

“Master Bruce.” Alfred's voice broke through his storm of emotions and he jerked his head up at Alfred, who gazed down at them from the central platform in the middle of the cave.

“Hey pops! See your still kicking!” The Joker giggled, waving up at the tight lipped elder sending him an icy stare.

“Master Bruce, I do believe you should eat something before you go gallivanting off to save the day, I don't think this one is as pressing as others and I really think yo – .” Alfred started ranting hoping that Bruce would hear at least three words out of his long winded sentence.

“Yeah,” The vigilante nodded his head in agreement taking the stairs up to the platform two at a time, the Joker lazily following behind him, “We should.”

“We? Sir?” Alfred asked the disbelief and disapproval creeping into his voice, easily morphing the shock at his acceptance to eat. The Dark Knight ignored him when he reached the platform, walking past the elderly man. He didn't want to deal with Alfred's disapproval of his lifestyle right now. Barbara sat in the computer chair, her home away from home. Tapping away at the keyboard. Robin reclined against the desk on her other side, messing with a gadget of his own design. Bruce didn't appreciate him dabbling in the electronics. If he almost blew himself up half as many times as Bruce had, it would still be way too many times.

“Barbara, what have you got for me?” The billionaire asked walking up to the computer and leaning over her shoulder, one hand on the desk the other on the back of her chair, taking in the various screens. Barbara turned to stare at his guest wearily, fearfully, before turning back to the computer and clicking a few keys. Robin's eyes snapped up from his gadget to watch them intently.

“I pinpointed the trackers.” She said slowly, afraid any sudden movements would set the Joker off. Bruce shifted his weight, blocking the madman's shit eating grin from her view.

“Good. Show me what you've got.” Bruce muttered pressing a few keys as well, only to have the girl slap his hand away. She clicked several keys and a grid map of Gotham appeared on the largest screen. A few red dots pinged around the city. Bruce tried to ignore how Tim's eyes burnt a hole in the side of his head. Alfred's footsteps echoed across the cave, the tinkling of cups on a tray upsetting a few critters on the ceiling. He set the tray on the desk beside Bruce, ignoring the Joker. Who had crossed his arms and leant against the desk beside the vigilante, back in Barbara's view. His eyes tracked Alfred's movement instead of taunting the girl, like a jaguar tracking its prey.

“Boo.” The Joker whispered with a smirk and Alfred leveled him with an angry stare, him lips thin, posture rigid. Bruce turned his head slowly, his hand flexing on the back on Barbara's chair.

“Play nice.” Bruce insisted, taking in the man's relaxed posture despite the deadly stare the two were exchanging.

“I always play nice. I just think my idea of nice isn't what it's supposed to be.” The madman stated, sizing up the old man in front of him. Then he smirked knowingly.

“But your nice,” The maniac admitted, running an appreciative eye over Bruce's body. Alfred actually scowled.

“So maybe it is.” The Joker finished, smiling innocently at the butler.

“I don't normally play nice.” Bruce insisted, Alfred's eyes snapped to him, a little more white showing than usual. The madman held back a sadistic cackle, not wanting to draw Bruce's attention to Alfred's disapproval of their banter. The Joker instead plucked up half a sandwich from the tray, watching as Alfred pivoted stiffly and walked away. The billionaire looked over at the movement and almost raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised the maniac actually ate food and not just human hearts.

“I hadn't noticed.” The madman stated, running a tongue over his split lip and Bruce fought the urge to shake his head in irritation, turning back to the screen instead.

“Are those the Jokers?” Bruce asked instead, pointing to a dot. Robin was still staring. The madman cleared his throat, tilting his head a little.

“Besides, I wasn't talking about how you play.” The Joker countered haughtily, finally taking a bite out of the sandwich. Robin's eyes finally moved from Bruce, narrowing in on the madman.

“Ignore him. I do.” Bruce stated, taking over the mouse and scrolling down to the Gotham Precinct, “those aren't Jokers.”

“Which is half our relationship problem. I have to do so much to get your attention.” The Joker complained with a huff, but the vigilante ignored him.

“Are those the other... Bruce Wayne's?” Bruce asked snatching up a sandwich for himself. He knew he was playing with fire right now, but he didn't want Robin and Oracle to see him give in to the madman every time.

“I would think so. They haven't arrested any Jokers. So we have no idea which dots on this map are the Joker's and which one's are the... you's.” Barbara muttered apologetically. Robin's gadget sizzled and sparked. The kid cursed, putting a thumb in his mouth walking away from the group. Bruce sent him a disapproving gaze, but stopped immediately. Realizing how hypocritical that was. The last thing he wanted to become was Alfred.

“Is that the one causing problems right now?” Bruce asked scrolling back up to the other districts, there was one located in the ruins of Arkham City.

“Yeah. He's taken over the old Arkham prison, stopped renovations, and hijacked several boats full of the cities cargo. Wayne enterprise included. The main worry is the medical supply shipment he's taken hostage. The hospitals will be fine for a few more days, but after that we're going to be in trouble.”

“Any civilian hostages?” Bruce asked, shifting back into a standing position.

“Not that I know of. All of the construction workers are accounted for.” Barbara informed him and the billionaire nodded his head in acceptance.

“So it'll be pretty straight forward. Get in, secure the supplies and take him down.”

“From what we know. Yeah basically. It should technically be pretty easy. But you know it's probably a trap right? It's always a trap.” Barbara finally asked, her eyes shifting to the madman, who wasn't there. She leaned forward panic in her eyes.

“Of course.” Bruce went to pick up another sandwich, noticing her concern, he realized he didn't feel the familiar presence by his side. He spun around quickly, his eyes zeroing in on a mop of green hair.

“Hey! Get away from that.” The Dark Knight barked out and the Joker jumped away from the storage containers he was a little too close for comfort to. The madman held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Alright alright, chill. I was just taking a peak. No need to bite my head off! I was just wondering what the great Bats kept around his lair. You always have such fun toys.” The Joker giggled, waltzing back over to the computer desk.

“Nothing you need to get into. Eat so we can leave.” Bruce demanded, running his eyes over the madman, checking for anything he might have stolen, but there were no strange bulges in his clothing.

“I'm sorry sir, but could we speak for a moment.” Alfred asked him determinedly and Bruce turn to look at him. They gazed at each other for a few seconds, the billionaire trying to discern what it could be about and if he even wanted to hear it. Finally he acquiesced with a nod of his head. Robin all but sprinted back up the stairs and onto the platform, following them out of the Joker's ear shot.

“Hey doll. Hows life?” The Joker asked Barbara with a predatory smirk, who immediately shrunk away from him as he hopped up, taking a seat on the desk's edge, leaning into her personal bubble. Bruce walked past Alfred, positioning himself to keep the Joker in his line of sight. His eyes narrowing. He had only been gone for two seconds, besides he'd rather watch the Joker than Alfred's irritated face.

“Sir, I don't believe taking that maniac with you is the best idea. Put him in police custody, I'm sure Arkham has had enough time to get back on their feet. It would be in everyone's interest if he were behind bars, or bullet proof glass. We even have a cell here for him.” Alfred insisted, and Robin nodded his head in agreement looking between the two with crossed arms. Bruce resisted the urge to sigh in frustration.

“No. It won't hold him.” The vigilante stated, and instantly Tim's face morphed into irritated disbelief.

“The police wouldn't be able to either. I won't have those deaths on my hands and Arkham is run by someone just as insane right now. Putting him there would do nothing. She wants him out of Arkham so all the attention is on him and not on her experiments.” The vigilante stated, taking in their skeptical expressions.

“Our cell is made to hold him. We have taken all the precautions.” Alfred insisted, gesturing in the general direction of the cell.

“Not this one. The other caves maybe, but not this one.” Bruce replied, knowing there was going to be a fight from the looks on their faces. The Joker was simply staring unblinkingly at Barbara which was easily making the girl nervous.

“I have updated all of them.” Alfred informed him, and Bruce sighed with a slight shake of his head, Robin's brows furrowed further.

“I haven't checked this one. I'm not taking that risk.” The billionaire insisted, giving each of them a stern gaze.

“That risk?” Robin asked dubiously, letting his arms drop to his side in disbelief.

“You're simply making excuses now.” Alfred insisted his posture tensing, his hands forming fists.

“If he got out he would kill Barbara.” Bruce countered, gesturing back at the two, which was obviously going to be a problem. The Joker was slowly getting closer to her while he munched on a sandwich, and bless the woman's heart, she was trying to ignore him. But neither of them bothered looking.

“We can have her transferred.” Alfred suggested, standing firm.

“You don't think he'd hack the computer?” Bruce asked, because the computer was on the same network as the other Batcaves.

“That computer is encrypted and protected it would take him ages.” Alfred insisted, his voice raising.

“I'm not going to take that chance.” The billionaire huffed out exasperatedly, why couldn't they see that was a bad idea? That it wouldn't hold him.

“Sire, You – .” Alfred was cut off by a squeal of fear and Bruce's eyes snapped up.

“Hey! I will bash your face in.” The Dark Knight growled, leveling his irritated gaze at the maniac who was a little too close to the woman. The madman stuck his tongue out backing away from the girl.

“No Alfred. I'd rather be in danger then put you three in it's path.” Bruce stated, his eyes not leaving the madman.

“And what about you? What about your safety? Let us help!” Tim demanded taking a step into their little circle.

“My safety? Mine? What about yours?” Bruce asked, definitely willing to dredge up how it was the teens fault that the madman was even out of the hospital room.

“I'll be fine. I can handle him. We can watch him in the cell. He won't go anywhere.” Robin insisted stepping a little closer to his mentor.

“Because that went so well last time.” Bruce almost snarled at him.

“He's fucking with your head Bruce! I can see it. Alfred can see it! Just let us help!” Tim exclaimed, Barbara squealed in fear again and the vigilante really did snarl.

“You are helping. By staying away from him. So he can't fuck with your head too!” Bruce brushed past him to shove the madman out of Barbara's personal bubble, which appeared to be rather large when it came to the madman. The Joker just giggled as he lost balance and fell off the desk, landing on his feet. The vigilante turned his attention back to the screen and zoomed out. The madman's laughter died down almost instantly, replaced by an angry scowl.

“What?” Bruce asked turning to look at the man's twisted face. The maniac simply shook his head irritably, picking up another sandwich. How many was that? Two full sandwiches? Maybe the man did eat.

“Whatever.” The vigilante muttered, turning back to the screen, resuming previous posture leaning on the desk.

“Let's assume all of these are my clones or copies.” Bruce stated, pointing to the police station.

“Bio-genetically altered doppelgangers.” Barbara corrected him hopefully, Bruce turned his eyes to stare at her blankly before turning back to the screen.

“Copies. And the ones at large are the Joker's. It's safer to assume that. Wait isn't that a convent?” Bruce asked pointing to a dot on the map.

“Yeah. What if that's a Bruce?”

“Taking refuge?”

“It's not.” The Joker stated around a mouth full of food, he picked up another half.

“Oh?” Bruce asked leveling the man with a piercing stare.

“It's my main headquarters. Guess I'll have to find a new one after this. That bastard BAD is there.” The Joker muttered angrily, hopping back up onto the desk.

“Bad? Is that a name?” The billionaire asked in confusion.

“Isn't that what you just called them? Bio-genetically altered doppelgangers? B.A.D.s right?” The Joker giggled sending a wink towards the girl. He got a tight smile from Barbara and Bruce closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He could feel a headache coming on, they weren't superheros they didn't need code names for things. This wasn't Starling City.

“So that's where Harley is?” Bruce inquired looking back at the screen. No wonder he could never find them. Who would bother looking there.

“Yep. We should, uh, pay her a visit. Hm? Yeah? Just a little visit?” The Joker asked sliding up next to the vigilante like he could somehow persuade him with his proximity. Their faces only inches from each other.

“No.” The Dark Knight scowled, shoving the man away from him. The maniac pouted back, sending an irritated glare at the male, but he backed off. Which made Bruce worry a little, he had enough to worry about already. He turned back to the screen.

“So we know where they're at. It looks like they're only three left at large. I wonder if Hush is starting to sweat.” Bruce muttered in satisfaction, straightening up and crossing his arms, soon it would be two. Then one. Then none. Then he could turn his attention to bringing in the good doctor and friends. The billionaire let his arms fall back, kind of regretting crossing his arms when it pulled at the stitches in his back, but he ignored the pain. It wasn't hard, he barely noticed any of his bruises or sprains anymore. Bruce reached over to pick up another sandwich half and turned to look. There was only one full sandwich left. He looked up, almost in shock, at the madman staring up into the endless darkness above them.

“Did you eat all of those?” Bruce asked, and the madman dragged his attention back to the vigilante with raised eyebrows. His green eyes flickered to the plate then back to the male, followed by an innocent shrug of his shoulder and a smug grin.

“I thought you didn't eat. You're skinny enough.” The billionaire muttered snatching up one of the pieces. The Joker just chuckled in amusement turning back to survey the area. Maybe Bruce had been wrong. Maybe the madman wasn't emaciated by his own will. What if Arkham wasn't feeding him enough? Maybe to keep him compliant. Hell, he was probably one of those people that got so engrossed in a plan that he didn't realize he needed sustenance. Like Bruce, he did it all the time. So that would be almost twenty four seven for the madman. The Joker was either plotting something or in Arkham. No wonder he was almost dead... okay maybe not. His ribs didn't show that much and he definitely had enough muscle. If Bruce remembered correctly. Which why would he? The playboy subconsciously shook the thought from his head. Speak of master plans though.

“Is that bomb secured?” The vigilante asked turning his attention back to the girl. The last thing they needed was for that purple green concoction to be laying around where people could get their hands on it.

“Yeah of course. So what's the plan?” Barbara asked, almost turning towards Bruce but she stopped herself, preferring to avoid looking at the crazy homicidal maniac beside the vigilante she admired.

“Just like every other day. Take out the Joker.” Bruce stated his voice dropping darkly, and the Joker's eyes snapped to him, taking in his facial features. The subtle changes in his demeanor. The small furrow of his brow and tight set of his lips. Batman and Bruce were different, yet the same. The Dark Knight's eyes returned the favor, all changes seeping away the second he saw the sharpness in the madman's green orbs. The Joker gave him a small smirk before moving his attention away. Mostly to stare down Alfred, who was sending the Joker an icy glare.

“Time to get going, Tim I need you to monitor the rest of the dots, see if you can do some reconnaissance. Do not. Engage.” The Dark Knight demanded turning a burning gaze to the teen, who met his eye, they stared for a few seconds before he reluctantly nodded his head in agreement.

“Barbara, find something on the doctor, we need her arrested.” The vigilante stated and the girl nodded her head as as well. Bruce turned to the Joker, not even bothering to ask, he got a firm grip on the madman's arm. The maniac instantly tensed, then relaxed under his touch and the billionaire grabbed the last sandwich pulling him away from the normal civilized human beings. Bruce met Alfred's disapproving stare as he walked past and the Joker saluted the man with a sadistic giggle while he was dragged by. The madman suddenly yanked against his grip grinding them to a halt in front of the older man.

“Aw, don't look so glum gramps! I'll bring him back in one piece...” The Joker smiled, turning towards the vigilante he placed a palm parallel to his midriff, and one above his head.

“You prefer the upper half of him right? I'll be sure to send it to you with not a scratch. Scouts honor.” The Joker flattened his palm against Bruce's abs the other coming to grip his shoulder, pressing his body up against the playboy's. The billionaire was sure, if Alfred still killed people, the Joker would be on the top of his list. Bruce sent the old man an apologetic look, which was simply returned with disapproving disbelief. The vigilante shoved the madman past him almost knocking him into the stairs and the madman giggled crawling up a few of them. Bruce ascended after him not bothering to look back at the man as Robin walked up to stand beside his old friend. Staring just as icily up at him.

“He's poison.” Robin muttered watching the sick flirtatious grins and giggles the madman sent back to Bruce. Watching the vigilante ignore them and nudge the man forward, instead of simply punching him in the face.

“Yes, well Bruce has always chosen his own poison. Unfortunately for all of us, it was never sex, alcohol or weed.” Alfred grumbled with tight lips as he watched the two ascend to the landing platform.

“We need to do something, I can't watch this, we can't just sit around and let him drown.” Tim whispered tearing his eyes away from the vigilante. Alfred shook his head doing the same.

“You can't save Bruce from himself. I've been trying since he was twelve.” Alfred replied, turning towards the kid, he placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. The old man opened his mouth, then closed it. There was a small pause between them as Tim's worried eyes met his sympathetic ones.

“I'm sorry.” Alfred whispered slowly, turning his gaze away from the teen as he walked away, his hand slipping off wearily and Robin got the impression that the old man wasn't talking about Bruce's situation, but his own. How Bruce had changed his life. What Tim had become. Was fighting crime really that bad? Did he warrant pity? Robin turned to watch Alfred walk away. What if it wasn't the crime fighting... wasn't the right in his life, but the wrong. How he chased after criminals instead of girls, or studied combat moves instead of mathematics or art or hell video games. When was the last time he had played a video game? Basketball? Watched a movie? Was he missing out? He didn't feel like he was, but then again... how would he know...

“Hey Tim! When was the last time you checked your email? Get over here!” Barbara called to him snapping him out of his thoughts. He took a deep breath letting all of it go. He didn't need this right now. The Joker had already given him the run around, he didn't need Alfred making it worse.

“I don't know. Why? What's up?” Robin called back to her as he pivoted around rushing over to her side. Hoping for anything to distract him from the two men a simple sprint away.

Bruce let the madman waltz over to the Batwing while he activated the Batsuit container that rose quietly from the platform. The maniac let out a content sigh as he ran a pale hand across its scraped up surface. The vigilante ignored him, moving the armor display pieces away from the under armor of the suit. He took a deep breath grabbing the hem of his shirt. The faster he was into his suit the sooner they could get out of here and away from all the disapproving stares. He gently tugged it up and over his head, gritting his teeth in pain as the movement pulled the skin on his back and shifted his bruised ribs. He let out a little hiss as he felt some of the bandages grow a little warm, the sting a great reminder of who not to save. Apparently the Joker had wandered over to watch the show because there was an echoed hiss of sympathy.

“Yeaaaah. Sorry, about that.” The Joker whispered with a little smile despite the meaning of the word sorry, simply bathing in the sight of a shirtless Dark Knight.

“I doubt that.” Bruce muttered bitterly, bending down to tear off the lower half of the old suit he still had on. The Joker scowled at his bland response, his eyes narrowing.

“I never asked you to be the hero.” The madman replied darkly the smile slipping off his face at the billionaire's sour mood. Bruce ignored him, opting to instead step into the new suit, he did wear underwear, they were just specially designed for the suit. He wasn't willing to change into the new ones in front of the madman so he kept them on. The Joker took a deep breath letting it out in a huffed growl, turning away from him. The maniac stalked around the platform a few times like a caged animal, his eyes never really leaving Bruce, always fixed on their prey or finding a way out. The vigilante continued to ignore him, putting on his suit at an excruciatingly slow pace. Every movement reminding him of every bruise he had achieved in the past twenty-four hours, or was it forty eight now?

Bruce got the black under armor on one arm, then stopped. Stuck on trying to get his hand in the other sleeve without pulling anymore stitches. Once the under suit was on it would be fine. The fabric already acted like a band aid it was ridiculously form fitting, he just had to get it on. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath ready to just take the pain and shift his arm back when something cold touched his bicep. His eyes snapped open in time to see an absurdly pale hand run down his arm. There was a tug at the suit and that hand held open the sleeve for him to slid his hand through. The Joker stepped in closer, his body coming into Bruce's view as he shimmied the fabric up his arm, letting it snap against his neck. The madman shifted behind him and leaned forward, folding her arms over the vigilante's shoulder's and resting his head on his hand.

“There ya go princess.” The Joker whispered into his ear with a smirk. Leaning back he uncurled his arms, letting his hands run back down over the man's fabric covered biceps. His breath ghosting against the base of Bruce's skull, goosebumps broke out across the billionaire's skin at the warm air's caress. The Dark Knight wanted to snap at him that he didn't need his help, to back it up. Unfortunately it was appreciated, the help that is. So he refrained. The Joker's breathing quickened. If he had done it his way and pulled more stitches it would have meant less mobility in the field, which he really wasn't looking forward to. The Joker was hard enough to handle on a regular night, one where he was this injured was definitely going to be a challenge. Even with him 'on their side.' The warm breath left his skin and he tilted his head, watching the madman slip away from him to waltz around the platform again. Bruce took a deep breath turning back to the task at hand. He bent down with gritted teeth, picking up a piece of his armor and snapping it into place.

The sound echoed around the quiet of the cave. The vigilante had to look back again to ensure the Joker hadn't slipped away, but he was still there. His footsteps silent against the metal platform, on the other side of the Batwing, only his feet visible and Bruce wondered when he had learned that. To walk silently. Was it out of necessity? Did he have to tread lightly around his parents? Or was it later in life? The madman appeared again, slowly making his way back around. His hands behind his back as he took in the details of the cavern. His green eyes flashing around the empty spaces. Did he pick it up when he joined the criminal underground? It hadn't sounded like he had much trouble with the lot, so what reason would he need, unless it was to scare the shit out of those thugs. God knows Bruce loved to do that. The Joker paused as his eyes met Bruce's, and he raised an eyebrow, narrowing his gaze questioningly. He slowly waltzed back over, coming to a stop in front of the vigilante. Blue eyes tracking his every movement yet not noticing any of them. The vigilante stared into pools of poison, as the Joker tilted his head. How startling would those green eyes be if they suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Obviously they wo... but they hadn't been green. They had been blue before.

“Admiring the view? I thought we were. Hmm. what was it, 'pressed for time'.” The Joker grinned slyly, snapping Bruce out of his thoughts. The billionaire held back his surprise at the man's sudden appearance in front of him. Even though it shouldn't have been sudden. How long had he been there? The Joker raised his hand to gently cup the side of Bruce's face, hoping he could get away with it while the man caught up with reality. The madman's cold fingers sent chills across his skin. The vigilante's own hand moved up to grab the maniac's wrist, pulling that hand away from his face as he tore his eyes away, turning back to his armor. He wanted to shake his head, but refrained, it had been ages since he was this distracted. He just needed more sleep and less injuries. He was going to get neither however so he might as well buckle down and get this job done. Get the Joker away from him. He continued snapping on pieces of his armor, ignoring the now burning gaze of the other male.

“So.” The Joker finally broke the silence.

“Where's my suit? You can't expect me to go running around in this!” The madman gestured to his ensemble. The large white button up shirt and dark green sweat pants.

“You know. On second thought. I've never killed someone with my dashing good looks!” The madman giggled running a hand through his fading curls as he waltzing around to lean casually against the suit chamber. “So maybe I'll just... stick with this.” Batman ignored him, deciding to sit down in order to put his shoes on instead of straining his back any farther. The madman pushed off the chamber, walking around the Dark Knight to lean over the back of him and Bruce scowled.

“Hellooooo! Is this thing on?!” The maniac asked, knocking on top of Bruce's head. The billionaire shook him away.

“I don't think we should go out tonight, love!” The Joker exclaimed, resting his hands on the vigilante's broad shoulders.

“You're just not yourself right now. I think a night in...” The madman insisted rubbing circles in the man's tense muscles.

“With some extracurricular activities.” The Joker leaned forward farther, putting most of his weight on Bruce's shoulders. His head popped into view, his green locks dangling towards the floor, accompanied by an upside down grin.

“And some bed rest, of course...” The Joker took a deep breath through his nose, “would do you good.” He exhaled.

“What do you say, tiger? How about a night in. O'la la.” The maniac straightened back up again his hands sliding to the base of Bruce's skull, his thumbs rubbing circles in the short hair on his neck.

“If you don't stop touching me. And I have to get up. Before I put my other shoe on. I'm going to punch you.” Bruce stated darkly, ignoring how the touches heated his skin.

“Oh come on! Like I haven't heard, that! One before!” The Joker laughed running his fingers along his masculine jaw line and Bruce subconsciously tilted his head up at the touch.

“In the groin.” Batman added on with a growl, his grip tightening on the leg armor as his heart sped up without his consent as those fingers glided across his skin.

“Ooooh, That one's new! Ya got me there sunshine.” The Joker laughed, ripping his hands away from his skin and backing away once again, but not before carding hand through the top of Bruce's hair. Batman turned to glare at the man's retreating back while he pulled his armor tighter. This week was insane, Bruce didn't think he could handle much more insanity. The fact that he even allowed the madman that close to him was insanity in itself. He could have easily broke his neck, yet it hadn't even crossed his mind until just now. He needed to pull his shit together. Finally he stood up, fully clad in Batman gear except for one item. His cowl. He plucked it off the manikin, and gazed down at it's empty eye holes. This was a symbol of justice. He ignored the Joker, who stopped in his tracks near the Batwing, leaning over the metal wing to stare intently at the vigilante. Bruce slipped on the cowl, tugging it into it's snug home over his skin and the madman started chuckling. By the time Batman turned around the Joker was full on laughing, the hitches in his breathing from the bullet wound barely noticeable anymore. Bruce took him in. Practically laying on the wing, his button up shirt not so buttoned up, and the baggy sweat pants barely hanging on.

“Wait here.” Bruce muttered, wanting nothing more than to get away from the maniac's diabolical laughter. Even if it was only for a moment. Without waiting for an answer, which sounded like a sputtered jumble of words he dashed to the edge of the platform and dove into the darkness. Breathing in a slow heavy breath of humid air in relief. The Joker slipped under the metal wing, and rushed to the edge peering into the darkness below in silent awe at the man's stealth abilities. After about thirty seconds of staring into the darkness, the Joker scowled shifting his weight to one foot. He crossed his arms, glowering into the abyss in annoyance. After another thirty seconds he was pacing the edge of the platform like a ticking time bomb. His eyes darting around skittishly, looking for any sign of the giant bat.

“Miss me?” The guttural voice asked suddenly from behind him and the Joker startled, losing his balance. He saw the darkness come closer, his world tilt, but only for a moment. A strong hand snapped out to grab his arm in a bruising grip, but it didn't pull him back to safety. Simply left him towering over a vortex of darkness. The Joker turned his head around to stare into sadistically amused steel blue eyes. Taking in the slight tilt of his chiseled lips.

“Just admiring the view!” The Joker laughed throwing his hand out, making it difficult for Batman to keep him on the ledge. Bruce gave in, not wanting to give the man a chance to throw them both off the edge and pulling him back to safety. He shoved him towards the center of the platform, throwing a pile of clothes at the man's stumbling back. A few hard items hit him square in the back and he almost fell over completely.

“Whoa whoa whoa! Let a man get his footing before you go throwing things at him!” The Joker whined twisting around just before he hit the aircraft's wing. He let his back bump harmlessly into it, sending Batman a healthy glare as he bent down to pick up the closest article of clothing.

“What's this?” The madman grumbled leveling the vigilante with a bland stare.

“You're suit. Wouldn't want you killing anyone with your... good looks.” Batman mocked, stalking around the maniac. Who shook the article of clothing out, glaring at it with pursed lips. It was a black and gray under armor, with patches of reinforced padding, one that Robin used to wear before his new suit.

“So let me get this straight. You want me to ditch the baggy pants... for a skin tight jumpsuit?” The Joker asked raising a skeptical eyebrow at the vigilante who came to a stop next to him.

“I could get you a green leotard, but I figured that was a little too much for the world. How about you put the suit on. And keep the pants.” The Dark Knight suggested with a tilt of his head.

“Wait, wait, wait... why the fuck. Do you have a green leotard?” The Joker asked slowly, then threw up a hand, “No, no, no! Don't tell me. Let me guess...” Bruce raised an eyebrow, not that the madman could see it. The madman seemed like he was mulling it around for a second.

“You have... a little boy fetish.” The Joker suggested, curling every finger except the index on his raised hands.

“Would make sense!” The madman pressed on dropping his hands.

“What with all the little boys running around! How's the new robin treating you?!” The Joker placed the back of his hand near the side of his mouth and turned his head, looking around the empty platform in exaggeration. “Not quite as acrobatic as the first I hear.” The maniac mock whispered ending with a muted giggle and nefarious smirk. Bruce's muscles tightened at the accusation, anger coursing through his veins, but he wasn't going to give in to the rage. He couldn't. It was what the madman always wanted and that at least was something he could deny the man.  
“That would make your day wouldn't it?” The Dark Knight barked, taking an intimidating step forward.

“Me fucking little boys.” His scowl turned to a smirk and he shrugged his armor clad shoulders.

“It's okay. That would mean you're not my type.” Batman gave the maniac a pitying look before the smirk broke across his features. The Joker stared at him for a few seconds then he looked down at his shirt, almost like he was trying to hold back his laughter, raising his hands to slowly unbutton the first few buttons. A few dark chuckles breaking past. He got about halfway, which to be honest was only three buttons, when one pale hand slid along equally pale skin. Slipping the dress shirt off one shoulder as he tilted his head back up but didn't look at the vigilante, his teeth digging into his bottom lip for a moment.

“I was though.” The madman whispered, his eyes flashing up to meet Bruce's, “Wasn't I?” Batman resisted the urge to back away from the man at the accusation. Afraid that action would make him look guilty. Which he was not. Of course. The madman pursed his lips almost in a pout, his brows creasing in pity.

“Dear. Precious. Little Jack. Oh, how you wanted to. Save. Him.” The Joker licked his bottom lip, leaning in closer to the stationary man. His features suddenly twisted into a scared naive innocence, the same look he had always imagined on Jack's features as he fell into the poisonous chemicals.

“Please! Batman.” The man gasped falling up against Bruce's steady chest, his voice void of insanity. He pressed his body into Bruce's own and the mad had to step backwards to keep them both upright. Batman's hands unconsciously shot out to steady them, his mind flashing with blue eyes instead of green.

“Please.” The Joker leaned closer, eyes closing, burying his head under the vigilante's chin. The Dark Knight stayed frozen as the man lifted his head. Their cheeks brushing for a moment... then a dark chuckle broke through. Bruce tensed immediately, his grip tightening ready to throw the man away. The Joker's hand shot up to lock onto Batman's jaw.

“Save me.” The madman muttered, laughing infernally, Bruce tried to pull away from his hold, but the Joker held firm. Standing on his toes madman crushed his lips against Batman's. The touch seared them both, sending chills down Bruce's spine. It was firm, pressuring, demanding and took the vigilante a moment to react. He slipped his hand between them and around the man's neck. One his gloves closed on pale skin he shoved him backward, taking a few steps. He slammed him hard into the side of the Batwing, his feet dangling off the ground. A few choking noises escaping his lips as he squirmed in the Dark Knight's hold.

“That's enough.” Batman snarled tightening his grip on the man's throat. The Joker gritted his teeth against the action.

“No!” The madman barked, throwing his hands up to claw at his hold.

“I'll tell you when it's enough!” The Joker snarled back, pressing forward against the vigilante's hold despite the crushing pressure it put on his throat.

“It could have been me!” The Joker hissed, his face twisted in anger, one bare foot coming up to press against Bruce's abs.

“What?” Batman asked taken aback, his hold loosening a bit in confusion. The Joker laughed spitefully, shaking his head with a bitter smirk.

“How old was I? Seventeen? A little old for you but still. You could have saved me. Would have saved me.” Bruce's heart plummeted immediately. He knew what the Joker meant, where he was going with this and he would deny it. Every step of the way, but he would be lying. For the most part.

“But I would have been lost,” The Joker giggled a torn broken laugh.

“So lost. I'd of had nowhere to go.” He could feel the Joker swallow against his hand as the madman nodded his head in confirmation to the emotions hiding behind the steel blue eyes.

“Don't.” Bruce whispered the hint of desperation seeping through his gravel tone. He didn't want them to discuss this. Ever. He didn't want anyone to ever discuss this. Mention this.

“You'd of taken me in. Under your wing. I'd need help, but you like to help don't you?” The Joker's insinuation blatant under the statement. Bruce's blood started to boil, his heart fluttering desperately at the thoughts.

“I've seen you're brand of. Help.” The Joker continued ignoring the free fist that Batman slammed next to his head. Almost denting the Batwing’s metal and Bruce leaned in closer.

“Don't.” He ground out, but the madman simply laughed in his face.

“Shut up.” Batman growled, but the madman pressed on in spite of him.

“I would have been the first. Bats.” He nodded his head, like he knew Bruce was denying it every step of the way.

“Tell me. Tell me I'm wrong!” The madman snarled at him, his own hand finding its way around Bruce's own throat, the other still clutching at his hold.

“Tell me you wouldn't have saved me! Tell me you wouldn't of taken me in! Taken me home! Patched me up! Tell me you wouldn't have mentored me. Tell me! Tell me. I wouldn't have been you're first!” The madman panted, searching Bruce's eyes for understanding.

“Robin. The first Robin.” Bruce shook his head at the man's shaky tone. The Joker tightened his grip on his neck until the vigilante could actually feel it through the cowl's armor.

“It was supposed to be me.” The madman hissed out almost desperately.

“God damn it! It was supposed to be me!” The Joker ended with a hysterical giggle. All Bruce could do was take a deep steadying breath. He let his own bitter quiet huff of laughter.

“You never shut up do you?” Batman asked, turning steady eyes onto the madman.

“Why? So we can continue living our lies? Me as me, you as you. Us, a world apart.” The Joker asked, his eyes turning just as dead.

“No.” Bruce muttered shaking his head, unsure what he was really answering.

“Tell me, I'm wrong. Do it. Tell me I'm wrong! Tell me you never thought about it. Dreamt about it on your days off from fighting crime! In you're boring board meetings! Tell me!” The Joker demanded, the madness swirling back into his green orbs. Madness born from desperation was dangerous.

“No.” Batman growled tearing his eyes away from those burning green irises. He wasn't sure he wanted to deal with that madness.

“No what?! Say it!” The Joker hissed out, his clawed fingers digging into his skin through the suit. He wasn't going to say anything. He couldn't. He was sick of this shit. Yes. It was true. He'd dreamt about it. What him and Jack would have been like as partners. Once he had taken Dick in he had thought about it. Wondered if it would have been the same. But he didn't want to think about it any more.

“Shut up!” Bruce yanked him away and then slammed him painfully back into the Batwing.

“Just shut up! I don't want this to make sense. This isn't supposed to make sense! You're. Not! Supposed to make sense!” Batman snarled, getting up close. Their faces almost touching as he stared into those poisonous eyes.

“You don't do things for a reason. You're supposed to be unpredictable. Nothing you do has a purpose. That's how it's supposed to be! But you won't. Shut. Up!” Bruce slammed his back into the metal two more times as he spoke the last two words, and the madman stared at him with wide eyes.

“Just shut up!” For once the madman listened, and the Joker fell quite, breaking their eye contact of his own accord.

“You think this fucks with my head, but what about yours? This isn't healthy for either of us. Sure, maybe what you say hurts. Maybe. But it hurts you as well.” Batman insisted through gritted teeth. The furrowed brows hidden behind the cowl, but the twisted frown easily noticeable when the madman meet his eyes again.

“So how about we just shut the fuck up for the rest of the night? Enough with the mind games and the great reveals of shit we don't want to think about! Because I don't want to think about Jack. You're not him. He never even existed. You can try to fool both of us that you were some innocent little kid, but we both know that's not true. You were always sick and twisted. You were always the Joker. That's how it is, was, and will be.” The Joker shook his head like Batman just wasn't getting it.

“I could have been Robin.” The madman insisted and Bruce shook his own head right back at him. It was true, Bruce had spent hours, days even, imagining that very scenario but it was all a fabrication. Simply because of who they were and it was time they both understood that. It wouldn't have happened, and even if it had... they'd of ended up in the same places. Batman's grip loosened as his eyes filled with pity.

“No! Jason. Jason was you! As Robin. And that didn't last. I couldn't do anything for him. He was falling and I couldn't catch him. And you, you were there, waiting for him at the bottom. But you didn't destroy him. He destroyed himself.” The Joker seemed to shrink into himself the more Batman spoke, so Bruce let it all out.

“You would have been the same way. Except I wouldn't of even had a chance. I had a chance and I couldn't save Jason. But you?” Bruce let out a bit harsh laugh.

“I could never have saved you. You were never there to begin with.” Bruce hissed as he slammed a palm against the Batwing. The side lit up scanning his gloved hand and the cockpit slowly slid open. The Joker tore his eyes away to stare at his feet, his red lips parted a little, his brows creased, eyes vacant as he took in the longest rant the vigilante had ever given him. Bruce let him go, taking a deep breath.

“Get in. We're done here.” Batman demanded of the silent male.

“You're wrong. You don't know it, but you're wrong.” The Joker whispered defiantly, so quiet Bruce had to strain to hear. Batman laughed again shaking his head.

“Just get in.” Bruce muttered, feeling drained already and the night hadn't even started yet. The Joker turned around, scrambling up the side of the Batwing without looking at the vigilante. Bruce stepped back and took the moment of separation to take a deep shuddering breath. Why was dealing with one man so fucking hard? Getting his back broken was easier than this. He rubbed at his eyes, the feeling of a deep headache starting up. Taking another breath he steadied himself pushing all the emotions to the back of his mind and building brick wall around them. Opening his eyes he caught a flash of green on the platform floor. Reaching down he scooped up the pile of clothes he had retrieved for the madman and tossed into the back of the aircraft. He grabbed the side of the Batwing's cockpit and vaulted in with one smooth motion, landing perfectly in the seat. His back didn't appreciate the action, however.

The Joker had settled himself into the copilot's chair, fiddling absentmindedly with one of the joysticks. A small pout adorning his lips, his brows still creased in thought. It was only a matter of time before the time bomb behind Batman went off. Bruce flipped switches and pressed buttons until the Batwing left the ground, hovering over the platform. Batman eased it towards the cave exit, but just before he got there he blacked out the windows, setting auto pilot on. The last thing he needed was the depraved lunatic knowing where his headquarters were located. The cockpit was silent as they flew through the air and Bruce wasn't sure this was any better then the man rambling. A quiet Joker was a dangerous one. Once they were above the city he turned the shields off and they were met with a blanket of white. Apparently there was a snowstorm outside, not that he cared much, but he was glad he remembered the under suit for the maniac behind him or else the man would have frozen to death.

“Put those clothes on. It'll keep the cold out.” Batman demanded manually maneuvering the Batwing over the city. The shuffling of clothes was the only answer he got in return, but it was good enough for him. The last thing he needed was the Joker bitching about freezing his ass off. After a few moments the shuffling stopped and a few more minutes passed.

“Where's the radio in this thing?” The Joker complained, breaking the silence as he pressed random buttons around the cockpit. Luckily Bruce had the option to turn off all his control of the aircraft so they didn't do anything.

“You know there's this song. I think you'd like it. It's really great. It's like our life story.” The Joker started rambling, just as they flew over the old Arkham City walls. Batman suddenly realized he didn't have this planned out too well. Normally he'd jump out of the cockpit and let the Batwing hover above the city until he needed it. He didn't want to lose their element of surprise by landing in the vicinity, but he also didn't want to spend more time getting to their destination on foot then he had to. Bruce looked back at his supposed prisoner. The Joker had his lips pursed, a small frown tugging at the edges as he jabbed uselessly at random buttons. He was dressed in the black suit, gray patches on the arms, and chest where some extra padding was placed. He had put on the green gloves and had placed the green sweat pants on over the under suit. Bruce hopped he had the shoes on.

“It's called Clarity, it's all techno kinda, but its catchy. It starts out like – .” The Joker started humming an off tune beat and Bruce decided... fuck it. He pressed the ejection button, setting the plane on autopilot. The top of the cockpit flew open, their seats rising up into the open air. The Joker immediately shrieked profanities, clutching to his chair for dear life. His eyes wide for a moment, but the snow was too much, forcing him to close them. Bruce hopped up onto the chair holding on to the the back of the seat, waiting patiently as the storm raged around them. The aircraft flew around in a large circle as the madman struggled to hold on. Finally the Joker lost his grip in the whipping snow, his body flying into the flurry of white like a ragged doll, and Bruce instantly shot off after him. The plane already miles away by the time he got the madman in his sights with the heat sensors in his suit.

The Joker's stomach was in his throat as he plummeted through the air. The chill still seeping into his under suit despite what Batman had said. The madman closed his eyes as the snow slapped around him, spreading his arms out as he fell through the sky. Letting it all go, accepting.

It was suddenly Christmas eve and he was falling, a laughing mess as the building behind him exploded. The same cold air whipping around him, cutting through him. The relief that this was it and he was going out with a bang. To be remembered. Suddenly a black figure closed in on him and what the hell why not fight a little more before he dies? The Joker threw a punch, but the suited up freak blocked it easily, despite their current gravitational problem. The man finally got a hold of him while the Joker laughed swatting his away.

“Joker! Stop. Joker! Seriously!” The black figure yelled at him over the slicing wind, and the madman knew that voice. He was back and he was falling, but there was no burning building or reflective windows, just empty darkness. A strong arm wrapped around him and pulled him into that black suited body. The Joker wrapped his arms around the man and their weight shifted, the world below no longer speeding towards them, and this was where it all started. That fated night when this idiot in a Bat suit jumped off a building to save him. Even though plenty of other people were still on that balcony, probably too far gone to save but still. The night Batman had saved him, despite all he had done. Despite him being ready to die. Welcoming it. It was the night he went from trying to kill Batman to keeping him alive at all costs, despite their little games. They touched down on the roof of a large building. Gently this time, instead of the crashing, startling hit they had taken the first time.

“What the hell was that?” Batman growled quietly at the madman who was still pressed against his body.

“Remember. That night?” The Joker asked, closing his eyes. Remembering how it felt, how insane. Utterly insane it felt.

“Yeah, you're still just as suicidal.” The Dark Knight complained pushing away from the madman. He crept to the edge of the building peering down into the alleyway, surveying the area. He didn't want to remember that night. It was hell in Gotham to say the least. He crouched down peering at the side of what appeared to be a warehouse. Bruce remembered that night. He needed to save the man, even if it was from himself. He was naive. You can't save someone from themselves, but he had promised to never let someone die if he could help it, even if they were a criminal. Not after... not after Jack.

“We can get in through a broken window on the left side. It'll be a large enough space.” Batman stated after checking the other side as well.

“My heat vision isn't picking anything up from inside. There must be something blocking it. I have no idea what will be in there when we land.” On any other night Bruce would have gone for it, just swung down into the unknown like it was nothing, but it wasn't just him this time and the Joker wasn't necessarily decked out in Kevlar.

“I'll find a different way.” Batman grunted, switching on his mic.

“Oracle. I need the schematics for the abandoned warehouse, I need a better entry point. The ground is crawling with thugs.” The Dark Knight informed her.

“Um, let me see. There isn't really a roof access. I'm not really seeing anything that's above ground floor. Its an old building maybe there is some caved in roof or broken windows? Zip line?” Barbara suggested unhelpfully.

“Alright, thanks.” Bruce took a deep breath turning to the criminal behind him.

“We'll have to go in through the window. Once we land take cover immediately. With any luck there won't be anyone around.” Batman informed him, the madman nodded and shrugged his shoulders, like busting through some windows wasn't a big deal at all. The Joker waltzed over to him, sidling up to him like it was a natural occurrence. His arms around his neck.

“Joker.” Bruce muttered and the madman turned big green eyes onto him.

“Don't kill anyone.” Batman stated only seconds before jumping off the building. Once they were at the ideal height he shot out his grapple gun, but he had miss gauged their combined weight. They were too low. Bruce twisted them around, his back smashing into the pane of glass beneath the broken one. It was loud, echoing through the stormy night. The shots of pain tingling through his back. The enemy had definitely heard that and would be rushing to their location. The glass fell in slow motion as they breached the building. There. Batman released the Joker, hoping to god he was paying attention and wouldn't clutch onto him. The madman fell onto the top of a pile of crates, stacked high and away from the floor, just inside the window. Bruce knocked some boxes off the crate and onto the floor where he landed as gently as he could, the contents of the box clattering across the concrete.

Shouts could be heard and he dodged to the left mere seconds after landing. Narrowly avoiding the rain of bullets that littered the crate behind him. He rolled behind another pile of crates dashing down the area and climbing up onto a stack. He ran across the crates and metal shipping containers silently, gazing across the warehouse.

He spotted the Joker crouched on the crates where he had deposited him, being careful not to move. Shards of glass glittered in his hair, and beneath his hands. A trail of blood ran down the side of his face. The men beneath him fanned out, searching the rows near the madman. Bruce activated his heat sensors, tracking their movements. They were always stupid leaving in groups of twos or even better, by themselves. Batman waited patiently as two of them crept down the walkway near him. He dropped down silently behind them slamming their heads painfully together, before dashing back up the crates. Not even giving the man just turning the corner a chance to see him. The criminal's panicked shouts echoed through the warehouse, telling everyone to watch their backs. He looked back over to where he had left the Joker, but the spot was empty. Just the glass left to glitter in his place.

“Shit.” Bruce muttered under his breath, creeping across the crates in search of the maniac. He dropped down again to take out the lone thug, before returning to his search. He didn't get much longer to look when the wicked voice echoed across the building.

“Nobody move! Or the clown gets it!” The Joker's voice giggled from the front of the warehouse. He hopped down taking out another lone thug, returning to his place above. Bruce gave up and dashed across the crates, only slowing down to silently approach when he was only a few crates away. He knelt at the edge of the crate, taking in the situation. The Joker stood behind a copy of his more dolled up persona that was seated in a large king like chair on top of a single shipping container, like he was the ruler overlooking his kingdom. A pistol shook in the Joker's hand as he wrestled with his copy, who wasn't too happy about being manhandled and putting up quite the fight despite the gun pointed to his head.

“Stop. Squirming! You're making me twitchy! And I have to admit I already have quite the trigger finger.” The Joker howled with laughter, pressing the gun harder into the doppelganger's temple.

“How about. Everyone puts the guns down!” The Joker asked with a giggle, cocking the pistol. That made the fake Joker fall still for a moment.

“Do it! Put them down! I'm not going to die like this.” The fake clown shouted, squirming some more against the Joker's hold but with a little less vigor.

“Yeah that's it. Now kick them under those crates! Atta' Boys. That wasn't so hard now was it?” The Joker asked as the sound of metal scraping against concrete echoed through the building. The guns sliding under the wooden platforms keeping the crates from touching the ground. That just made Batman's job easier, but right now he needed to figure out how to separate the two madmen. A shot echoed across the small clearing, the sound bouncing around the metal crates. The Joker cried out in annoyance, falling to the ground, taking the fake one with him. The chair toppled over the sound echoing through the warehouse like gong. The pistol slipped out of his hands clattering to the metal top a few inches away from him. The thugs on the ground surged forward immediately, ready to assist in subduing the real Prince of Anarchy.

The Joker scrambled for the gun only to have a clawed hand tear at his face, leaving angry red welts behind. While one of the criminals attempted to fish a gun out from underneath one of the crates, another one, the one who shot at the Joker, came running into the clearing. Batman dropped down on top of him, taking him out with one twist of his body. He landed solidly against the ground, the criminal crashing to the concrete, and fired his grappling hook at the man searching for a gun. The criminal fell backwards onto his ass, when the hook landed and Batman gave it a generous tug. When his back hit the ground Bruce ran forward and vaulted onto him. Slamming closed fists into his head, which slammed painfully against the concrete.

The rest of the thugs knew of his presence by then and switched targets. Bruce didn't have time to get off the first thug as he blocked and countered the first punch aimed at his face by thug two. He quickly rolled sideways off the downed criminal as another one, thug three, decided to get grabby. Still crouched he shot a leg out twisting his body in a circle, swiping the man two's legs out from under him. He quickly dropped his back to the ground to avoid a kick to the face by a different criminal. While down Batman gave the downed man beside him an elbow to the face, thug two's head smashing back into the concrete with a satisfying crack. Thug two out. He kicked the nearest thug's knee out with one boot, tumbling backward onto his feet.

Another shot echoed into the air just as he stood up and Batman's head jerked towards the sound, seeing the Joker and the fake grappling hazardously with the gun. Another shot went wild, taking out one of the thugs who fell to the ground in agony. Bruce suddenly had a face full of fist, his jaw throbbing, and he stumbled back, taking a punch to the stomach. He grabbed that hand before it could retreat and twisted violently, taking pleasure in the snap and sharp cry of pain. To top it off he roundhouse kicked the thug, back into the remaining five. Two of them fell under the man's weight. Thug four downed.

Another shot went off, this time the sound of metal on metal pinged around the warehouse. The vigilante didn't turn his attention. Batman blocked an uppercut with crossed arms, then a left hook by dodging the thrust. Grabbing the man's wrist he slammed an open palm into his elbow. The fifth man cried out in pain and fell to one knee. The Dark Knight blocked the sixth man's punch, while the other two scrambled out from underneath their buddy's unconscious body, and the third man recovered from having his knee cap kicked out.

Bruce sent a knee into the kneeling man's chin, knocking him back into the ground, his head lolling to the side. Thug five laid out. The other thug took a step back drawing a knife as the other two finally scrambled to their feet. Some more shots went off, this time Bruce didn't look to see where they had went or bothered listening. The man with the knife lunged at him and Batman dodged the first slash, but it put him in the range of another thug, who took a swing at him. The vigilante blocked it but the man with the knife slashed again. Batman just barely dodged the second swipe but he took a kick to the side of his knee from the man beside him. He fell to one knee, blocking another slash with his forearm. The blade ground into his armor, but didn't damage his skin. He cock shot thug seven beside him just before he took a hit to the back of the head from the man. The criminal still cuffed him on the ear, the area flaming up immediately despite the cowls protection.

Bruce swung his leg around knocking the man with the blade down. He quickly shifted onto his knees, slamming a fist decisively into the man's face. Thug six down. It seemed thug three was back in the game as Bruce lazily lifted an arm to block the man's haphazard punch. Standing up swiftly he headbutted the man in the face, easily breaking his nose. The thug fell to the ground unconscious, thug three down. The seventh thug seemed to have recovered from his nuts being crunched, because he charged angrily at the vigilante. Batman side stepped the man, catching his head in an arm. He fell backwards slamming the thugs face into the concrete. Seven out.

His head jerked up, looking for the last man. The only remaining thug was trying to pull the same gun from beneath the wooden stand. Bruce stood up throwing a well aimed batarang that sliced through the man's hand. The thug cried out, clutching the hand to his chest as he pivoted around just in time to get a flying fist to the face. Batman landed gracefully over the downed man, but the peace didn't last long. A large mass slammed into his body, his back smashing into the metal crate. The material creaked and bending under the pressure. Stunned he suddenly found himself flying through the air, colliding with a shipping container on the opposite side. His side slamming into the metal bars on the front. He grunted in pain as he fell to the ground with a thud. He coughed as his lungs tried to compensate for the sudden forceful removal of air. A deep yell sounded and Bruce looked up just in time to see a hulking man charging at him. Batman lifted himself up onto his elbows, chucking a batarang at the man's face. It hit him square in the forehead and the giant thug veered off course by a few inches. Giving the vigilante the time he needed to get out of his way. He sat up as the thug slammed into the shipping container, the object sliding along the floor a few feet. Batman surged forward moving quickly to his feet while the thug shook his head, a large dent in the metal crates wall.

The man snarled angrily and Batman dashed across the clearing putting some distance between them. The hulking man followed that action with a rage fueled charge. The Dark Knight threw another batarang, but the man turned his head, avoiding the shock of the hit, instead taking a gouge to the cheek. Bruce took the small window of distraction to dash around the criminal, twisting up and onto his back. He quickly slid an arm around the man's neck pulling tight. The thug reared backwards stumbling as he swatted at Batman with beefy arms. Bruce's eyes slid up a little and then grew wide.

“Joker no!” Batman cried out, his grip tightening on the man's neck. The Joker stood on the shipping container, the fake clown on his knees near the madman, pleading for his life. The pistol up against the copies head. Blood poured down the copies face through gashes, the Joker's hands covered in blood. The Joker's green eyes snapped up to gaze at him and they stared at each other for one long moment. Bruce's eyes pleading, the Joker's empty. And then he smirked slowly. His finger tightening. Pulling the trigger. Blood splattered in a shower of brains across the thugs passed out on the floor. Bruce was suddenly slammed up against a crate, his momentary distraction giving the large man time to recover. Batman reasserted his hold, wearing the man down while taking a few more bruising hits to the back. The hulking thug slowed until he was sluggishly swatting his arms. Bruce released him a few seconds after he went completely slack, slumping to the ground. Slipping out from behind him, he turned horrified at the gory mess in front of him.

“Oh come on! Don't give me that look!” The Joker complained waving the gun around like it was a toy. Like the brains and blood on the ground was just water and confetti.

“I was doing him a favor! You can't fix crazy! Trust me.” The maniac muttered, kicking the man's dead boy. The clown's body slumped forward sliding sickeningly off the edge of the crate to hit the ground with a wet squelch and thud.

“You weren't supposed to kill anyone. This wasn't the deal!” Batman cried out, anger coursing through his veins.

“The deal? That was a mercy kill!” The Joker cried out, pointing to the crumpled body Bruce refused to look at.

“Look. Those guys!” The madman stated, gesturing around in circles at the men on the ground.

“Are all alive. That's what you wanted! This world can't handle more of me! His brain was fried anyways! You can't cure that shit! I saved him!” The Joker insisted with vigor, pointing the gun jerkily down at the dead body.

“You keep saying that! He could have been helped!” Batman roared at him, the blood coursing through his vein five times faster than it was during the previous fight.

“No he couldn't!” The Joker snarled back.

“So what you think the best way to handle insanity is to just off them?!” The Dark Knight asked incredulously.

“Yeah! I do!” The maniac shouted back in frustration. Like Bruce wasn't seeing the bigger picture.

“What about you then?! Is that how we should handle you?! Give you the death sentence and be done with it!” Batman barked back in irritation, throwing his hands out incredulously. The Joker sucked in his bottom lip, shaking his head as he tore his eyes away from the vigilante. Dry chuckles slipping past his bitter smile.

“Is that what you want? You want me dead?” The Joker asked his face void of emotion, his head nodding limply.

“It is isn't. That's what it is!” The Joker cried at him, the gun pointing hazardously at the Dark Knight.

“No.” Bruce muttered, shaking his head, that wasn't what he meant. This was supposed to be the other way around.

“No. No. You're just too. Scared. To do it yourself!” The madman hissed taking a few steps forward. Then suddenly he twisted his arm, placing the barrel of the pistol underneath his chin. Bruce's entire body tensed up, fear striking his soul.

“No!” Bruce yelled out instantly, his body jerking forward a step, but stopping afraid any sudden movement would tip the balance. The Joker smiled shaking his head sadly.

“It's okay. I can do it for you! It's what you want isn't it? A clear conscious? Save us while you can! But wish we were dead all the same! Such a fucking martyr.” The Joker scowled several steps backwards.

“Joker, please. Put the gun down.” Batman pleaded with him, taking a step forward as well, his hands out trying to calm him.

“No... No.” The Joker shook his head, “Anything for you Bats... baby.” The shot echoed through the room, and Bruce lunged forward.

“No!” He cried out, desperately scrambling over the unconscious bodies. The Joker fell backwards his head over the other side of the shipping container, his body still. The pistol clattering to the concrete behind the container. Bruce hauled himself up the metal, his heart hammering in his chest, the mantra of no repeating over and over in his head. He got a knee up onto the top and froze instantly. Fury coursing through his being. He he slowly stood up on the top of the shipping container, his boots slamming against the metal as he stalked over to the Joker's body. The madman's head was tilted over the side, not breathing. Dead. Bruce drew back a boot and let loose. Kicking him hard in the side, sending his body flying over the side of the container and crashing onto the floor below.

“You son of a bitch!” Batman roared out, dropping down to the ground as well, his boots thunking against the floor. He raised his foot again, aiming a well placed kick to the madman's stomach. Except this time hands shot up to stop him. The Joker's body only slid a few feet, his pale hands clutching Bruce's black boot. Laughter started up, echoing across the room.

“Can't a dead guy rest?! Jesus. You're so violent!” The Joker crowed, keeping that boot from pulling back and repeating the attack.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! Where did you get those blanks?!” Batman raged, tearing his boot out of the maniac's grip.

“Oh. What? Wait! Were you... you weren't... actually. Worried. About little old me? Come on love, I'd never leave you!” The Joker snickered, Bruce aimed another kick, slamming into him hard, sending him sliding farther along the ground with a pained grunt. Batman was there in seconds, one sturdy heel pressed against the madman's skull, keeping him pinned to the ground.

“Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. That. Really. Hurts.” The Joker ground out, his slapping his hands against rubber, keeping Batman's boot from crushing his skull.

“Where did you get them?” Batman asked again, his voice dark, rage boiling beneath.

“You're. Place. I got them at your place! You were so sweet! Letting me wander around by myself. You have such fun toys!” The madman giggled his voice muffled as Bruce applied more pressure.

“Don't fucking bull shit me! I never let you out of my sight!” Batman snarled trying to remember any time the Joker could have slipped away and found the false bullets.

“I got.” The Joker tried to grind out, the pressure becoming a little too much.

“It from. The... cabinet.” He finally ground out, Bruce snarled pushing off of his head, he paced back then pivoted angrily, walking forward a few steps. He had let him out of his sight. Damn it! He had set himself up for this bull shit and he had played right into it. Had felt exactly what that fucking piece of shit wanted him to feel. Bruce took a deep breath turning back around and stalking over to the discarded gun. He cocked the chamber, aimed at the metal crate above the madman's head and fired until the gun clicked empty. Not that anything happened with those three shots. Batman dismantled the gun, his actions jerky, dropping each piece furiously to the ground. Its metal clattering in the silence.

“You killed him.” Batman muttered in disgust, not even bothering to look at the man. The stood up on shaky legs, walking over to the vigilante. He slipped around his back, placing two hands on his shoulders he trailed his hands down over rigid muscle. Around his sides and up the front of his chest.

“And yet, you were more worried about my death.” The Joker grinned to himself. The Dark Knight snarled and spun around. Grabbing a fist full of the man's suit, he lifted him up off the ground. Slamming one fist painfully into his face. The Joker jerked back with the force. His laughter faltering with the impact. He opened his mouth again, but Bruce cut him to it throwing him hard onto the ground and punching him again, and then again. When the madman fell to the ground he grabbed a handful of his suit and lifted him back up. The sound of leather meeting flesh not nearly as satisfying as Batman wanted it to be, but he punched him again regardless. One more punch and the Dark Knight let him slump to the concrete. Closing his eyes Bruce tilted his head up towards the heavens, taking a deep steadying breath. The Joker's palm slapped against Batman's calf, then the other to his thigh and the madman pulled himself up off the ground. Resting his face on Bruce's inner thigh, he gazed up at him.

“You weren't supposed to kill anyone.” Batman whispered, not willing to look at the man, but too tired to remain angry. At least that's what he told himself.

“What kind of life would he have lived otherwise?” The maniac asked quietly, devoid of the madness he's claimed to hold.

“My type of crazy shouldn't be take lightly.” He muttered pressing his bruised cheek into Bruce's leg.

“Don't be mad Bats. Baby. Come on. I'm not dead. I know that scared you. I could hear it. In your voice. Did you hear it?” The madman asked his hand moving from the calf up to rest on the vigilante's stomach. Avoiding any places that would freak the tense vigilante out.

“You're fucked up.” Bruce muttered, then he lightly kneed him in the jaw. It wasn't enough to send the man flying but enough to get him out of his personal bubble. Enough to snap his teeth together and send his head veering backwards. The Joker threw his body to the side, slapping his hands against the concrete to stop his head from hitting the ground and Bruce took a few steps away from him.

“Admit it. You never wanted me dead.” The Joker demanded, turning burning green eyes his direction.

“I've never wanted you dead.” Bruce stated, his eyes icy his lips thin. He scoffed, shaking his head.

“You're the only one that needed some fucking clarification.” Batman snarled turning away from him, he stalked back around the crate. Ready to tie up the remaining thugs, as the Joker huffed a laugh and fell back to the ground, snickers starting up. He tied up two of them and was moving to the third when the madman's laughter finally died down and silence reigned over them again. The Joker apparently finally decided to peel himself off the concrete and propped himself up against the side of the shipping container, only a few inches from some oozing blood. He opened his mouth ready to start up some bullshit when Batman held up a gloved hand, calling for silence. Was that... they were missing a thug.

“Shit.” Bruce cursed, turning circles around the place trying to located the ominous beeping noise. He dashed around a shipping container, and tore open the door. There was a bomb. It was okay though. He could easily disarm it. He bent down, taking off the cover.

“Whatcha doin' cupcake?” The Joker asked accompanied by the sound of flesh against metal as he limped his way over. Bruce was just about to pull the wire when another beeping started up. His head perked up and he turned around staring at the shipping container one row down. Then another beeping started, and slowly a cacophony of electrical beeps filtered through the air, shattering the silence completely into a cascade of noise. Bruce could hardly hear himself think. This bomb had ten minutes on it, and there was no way he could disarm them all.

“Time to leave sparky. Unless you want to die together. I'm okay with that.” The Joker sighed dramatically huffing himself in next to the vigilante. Bruce ignored him, turning back to the device he ripped out the wire, disarming it.

“We need to get them out of here.” Batman stated, rushing back into the room, he dropped down picking up the nearest thug, and hauling him over his shoulder, his eyes darting around the room. There had to be something, anything... There. He hauled the man over to a shipping container on a conveyor belt leading to the outside. Dropping the man on the ground he ignored the Joker's protests. It took him several seconds to pry open the door, but eventually it popped open with a screech of metal. Batman picked up the thug again, throwing him roughly into the crate. The Joker laughed dryly sitting back and watching from atop the blood stained shipping container, his feet swinging back and forth in amusement. Bruce hauled all the thugs as quickly as possible to the container. Batman knew he'd popped several stitches, and the bullet wound on his leg was protesting profusely. He was just on the hulk of a man which was a ridiculous task when the Joker's voice finally filtered into his brain.

“We've got like... wait for it. A minute left.” The Joker stated nonchalantly, and Bruce just realized the madman had one of the devices in his hands. Batman put some more back into it, hauling the monster man onto the belt then dragging him into the crate.

“Thirty seconds.” The Joker informed him juggling the bomb like it was a music box. Bruce slammed the doors shut, dashing to the madman he ripped the device out of his hands, placing it on the container. He tugged the madman off the metal and threw him over his shoulder. The Joker squeaked indignantly, then squealed with excitement. Batman hauled ass to the very front of the warehouse, slamming a fist into the on button for the conveyor belt. It didn't move. He slammed it a few more times, then gave up. They didn't have time. He jumped through the large window his arm taking most of the damage. He landed sloppily on the other side, almost slipping in the glass. Tearing his grappling hook from his belt he aimed it at the closest building. It snagged. Behind him was a piercing creak of metal, then the wind was soaring past their ears. Metal crashed against metal, then the world lit up. Bruce's hand touched the edge of the building just as the warehouse ignited. He had them in the air vaulting over the edge when the blast hit them sending them sliding, and rolling, across the snow covered roof. His ears rang as he slammed to a stop, a burning chunk of metal landed near his arm. Bright and on fire. His head swiveled around immediately, locating the madman he had brought with him. Rolling to the right he threw his body over the Joker's as they were suddenly littered in molten debris. A split seconds later it was over, just ash raining down around them mixed with the snow. The world a litany of gray, white and flickering orange. Batman's back was an uncomfortable temperature and something was searing into his lower spine. He rolled over and a chunk of metal fell off into the snow.

“Bruce?! Bruce are you alright?” Barbara's voice echoed through the static on his radio, but Batman ignored it as another explosion rocked the foundation. He rolled back over the Joker's coughing body, covering his head with his arms. Bruce let out a sigh of relief when no fiery hail rained down on them. He let his head fall, resting in the melting snow. The Joker remained quiet underneath him. His body heat barely intelligible through the suit. The madman turned his head, his breath warm against his cooling skin. The madman's breath hitched, ready to break the silence when someone else beat him to it. Harley's voice came crackling over Arkham City's old speaker system.

“Hey! How are you two holdin' up, huh? How'd you like the present we sent ya? I bet it was pretty explosive!” The girl laughed with her obnoxious accent.

“Hopefully by now you two are dead! Ha! But I don't like getting my hopes up. So if you aren't dead. Well you suck! Next time just die and make it all easier for us. Anyway if you're alive, Mista' J has some nice ideas up his sleeve so next time... you won't be!” The speakers crackled out with her laughter and Bruce groaned in annoyance. They had to deal this those two tonight. At the rate they were going, the entire city would be up in flames by the time they were done.

“Can we pleeeease go visit my dear old Harley Quinn?” The Joker asked pleadingly and Bruce propped himself up with his arms, staring out at the flashing lights of the approaching police cars.

“Yeah. We can. We definitely can.” Batman muttered, then without warning a gloved hand was suddenly around the madman's pale throat. Pressing the madman into the melting snow.

“If you kill one more person today.” Bruce paused his anger fading, his face devoid of emotion. A cold statue.

“You will regret it. I swear to you.” The Dark Knight promised quietly, and the Joker stared up at him. Taking in those sharp cold steel blue eyes, flickering on the edges with the raging flames behind him. And what a sight that made. Batman's hard chiseled form above him, accented by dancing chaos, and deadly steel resolve. All the Joker could really do was nod his head in awe. His skin tingling from the contact. There was a lot of hard muscled body pressed into him right now. It was kinda hard to think.

“Good. Let's go pay your girlfriend a visit.” Batman stated, turning to look at the flaming destruction behind them.

“Ex.” The Joker muttered and Bruce's lips tugged up a little, but first. He needed to check on those thugs. The police should be able to handle any extraction of the medicine from the burning flames themselves. If the cargo was even in there. Hopefully it wasn't.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Soooo I see Robin as like Roy Harper. He's pretty sexy. Lol. Those jaw bones. DAAAAAMAN son!

I would like to thank everyone who's been reviewing. I've had some writer's block. I thought I had to write it a certain way, but I didn't want to write all the bull shit of them walking to the stupid warehouse or stealthing or whatever. Bleh boring banter. Dropping in worked lol. Guess you didn't have to wait too long PsychoticDuck. And yes Petricor. I cried when I ran out of good fanfiction too. Then I wrote this... Well I wrote the Dominion one first... but that ones not that great. XD


	12. What We Are

*Takes deep Breath * AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! Holy shit I'm not dead?!  
I'm not sure I like this chapter, butt fuck it. It's as good as it's going to get without me losing my mind. Oh wait. So it's been awhile. Merry Christmas. Rofl. College is a bitch, especially when you have to write so many fucking essays. Fortunately the hardest thing I have this semester is Japanese. I also haven't had much inspiration. I have to go to youtube and watch the Joker's cut scenes from Arkham Origins to even feel like it. RIP. I left a treat for you guys though. Ready for the real reason this is at least an M? Later it will definitely be more E, but eh for now. In addition. I have about 77 pages of Harry Potter porn with plot written… Because Severus. Yo. Shits hot. I won't be posting it until I’m done though.

Chapter 12: What We Are

Recap: Bruce and the Joker just escaped the fiery clutches of Harley's explosions. Leaving behind the henchman. Batman decides it's time to pay her a visit and the Joker couldn't agree more.

“Good. Let's go pay your girlfriend a visit.” Batman stated, turning his head to look at the flaming destruction behind them.

 

“Ex.” The Joker muttered and Bruce's lips tugged up a little in sympathy. He knew the feeling. Selina was a wild card on her good days.

 

**************

 

Batman turned his attention back to the maniac as the heat from the fire washed over them. The stifling flames eating up the oxygen in their vicinity, making it hard to breathe. The hot air licking their exposed skin. Ashes ascended from the sky, replacing the familiar snow with grey flecks. One landed on the madman's cheek and Batman knew it would leave a dark smear across his ivory skin. Bruce took a deep breath. The madman's heat suddenly piercing even his Kevlar armor, overpowering the more obvious heat source behind them. It seemed as though Bruce's senses were more in tune with the lithe man pressed beneath him than the fire blazing behind.  
Bruce gazed down at the man, his hand still curled around the maniac's throat. The maniac's lips parted, letting out a huff of hot air that mingled with his own. His hand shifted from the madman's neck. The back of his gloved fingers smudging the ash across the madman's pale cheek. Just to see the contrast. It was in that second, as the grey smeared across pale skin, a purple bruise already blooming across the man's smooth cheek bone, that the vigilante realized the maniac could be cold... dead... instead of the heated presence beneath him. If that blank had been real... if the fucking madman had been crazy enough... that stupid grin currently beaming up at him would have been gone. Erased from the world with all the twisted cruelty it entailed.

 

Those green eyes danced with delight as the leather drew across his skin, watching the vigilante stare down at him. The Dark Knight lost in thought, it seemed, for a brief moment. The madman was entirely comfortable staying exactly where he was, but the police cars must have turned a corner. The Joker's eyes reflected their blue and red strobes. The sudden illumination pulling Bruce out of his thoughts, but it didn't change his realization.

 

Batman jerked his head up, tearing his eyes away from the man beneath him to gauge the time they had before the emergency dispatch arrived. Bruce frowned at his deduction, and let his hand fall from where it rested against the madman's jawline, leaving a lighter trail of ashe behind as it fell across the man's neckline. Bruce took a deep breath, quickly deciding on his next course of action. His hand left the madman entirely, mirroring his other, pressed against the roof near the madman's head. The vigilante's arm muscles flexed as he pushed away from the maniac, putting some distance between them. The madman's heat leaving his upper body cold in its absence. The Joker frowned at the new space between them.

 

Bruce sat up all the way, twisting his body to take in the raging flames behind him. He rested back against the heels of his feet, judging the thugs chances of survival. His right hand came up to rub the back of his left shoulder as he ran through the possibilities. He would probably have a new bruise on top of the previous ones. Thanks to that brute throwing him into the shipping containers. He wasn't looking forward to seeing that one. His other palm tightened into a fist when he finally decided there was no chance those men made it out. His left arm rested on his thigh, his knuckles barely touching the madman's torso. The maniac's breaths raising his spandex covered torso to brush against his gloved hand.

 

The Joker's abs vibrated suddenly as he suppressed a giggle, trailing off into a subdued cough in an attempt to cover it up. Bruce's eyes snapped back to the madman. It appeared he had reached the capacity of his inner mirth. Despite how serious the maniac tried to be, he could never truly get rid of that smile.

 

Bruce's memories easily dredging up the first moment he had heard that stifled laughter. It was the first time they had met. Batman meets Joker. He hadn't realized it at the time, but the sound was simply the psychopath attempting to suppress his mad laughter. The madman had tried so hard to play the role of Sionis, tried so hard to be serious for more than just a moment of his life. Just like then, however, the maniac always peaked through with those little snickers that slipped past his mask, quite literally at the time.

 

It seemed the madman finally broke letting a few giggles leave his lips and grinned up at him, almost apologetically, letting the charade that he wasn't extremely excited to pay Harley a visit fall away. He didn't, however, bust into insane laughter like Bruce knew he wanted to. The Joker knew it would piss Batman off. The maniac had never been an idiot.

 

Hell... he was... Brilliant. He had brought Gotham to its knees in a single night, had broken out of prison not even three hours after Bruce had put him there. Had walked around maximum security like it was his own personal fucking penthouse. The epitome of the Prince of Anarchy, Chaos, and Crime. Bruce was just grateful he had gotten to the maniac before he could blow up half of Gotham just for shits and giggles.

 

Right now the Joker knew Bruce was not happy with him, and his manic giggles would not lift his mood. The madman's attempts at stifling them didn't go as unnoticed as they had the first time they met. Just the knowledge that the madman wanted to cackle in sadistic vindictiveness was irritating, and made Bruce grit his teeth in annoyance.

 

The madman huffed irritatedly at the frown marring the vigilante's lips. He rolled his eyes, his hands sliding up Batman's armored thighs. “Always so serious!” The madman sighed tilting his head back and closing his eyes for a moment. Then turned his gaze back onto the vigilante. “I tried right?” The Joker insisted with a crooked smile and a small shrug, his eyes bright and insistent. Batman's eyes narrowed as the touch moved further up his thighs, suddenly realizing his questionable position on top of the madman. “That has to count for something doesn't it?” The Joker asked, lifting himself off the ground a little.

 

Bruce took in the sight of the man beneath him. He had a split lip, bruised face, mused hair. His body clad in Robin's tight black under armor. Batman could practically see the muscles sliding under the fabric. Bruce's hands twitched, and his jaw flexed.

 

All he had to do was lean down and pin the maniac. Cage him. And he would be at Batman's mercy. Just where the psychopath belonged. Batman clenched his hands as he fought that urge, his arm muscles flexing with the effort.

 

“No?” The madman pouted when Bruce didn't reply, his hands already dangerously close to were the maniac wanted them to be. Batman suddenly scoffed at the Joker, the man's audacity was legendary, as was his own demons. He snatched up the madman's hands with his own tossing them away from his thighs with an air of finality. He finally stood up as the maniac's hands slapped lazily against the pavement above his head, letting his body follow them.  
The Joker pouted in disappointment for a moment, before his features morphed into a lazy smile as he took in the new view of Batman towering over him. Bruce glared down at the maniac's suddenly smug face, watching the madman settle into his new position. The epitome of open, inviting... enticing. Those lithe muscles discernibly accentuated by the under armour. The police lighting him from above. Rotating between red and blue. While the fire lit him from below, creating a rather surreal image. Batman glared down at him. The Joker's lips parted and his eyes glazed over a little as he stared back.

 

Batman had the same lighting as the madman, the alternating blue and red accentuating his suits shape. The orange glow behind him, washing out the shadowed areas of his relaxed form, creating the image that he was not entirely real. As if he were made from the darkness, trapped for that brief moment in the glow of the flames, and flash of the lights. Batman suddenly shook his head in disbelief, turning away from the madman, shattering the image.

 

The Joker seemed to have a ridiculous amount of trust in Bruce's ability to reign in his temper. A part of the vigilante had wanted to kick the man one more time just to change his views on the matter, but he had refrained. They had all night together and he didn't want to hear the whiny complaints of bruised ribs. God knew they both had enough injuries to last them for the next year and a half.

 

Bruce turned towards the raging fire, taking a step away from the madman. Batman didn't deserve that trust. He had let this man die twice already. Bruce tried to ignore the sudden, twisting, gut wrenched feeling he had as he remembered the madman's suicide charade. It wasn't the fact that he felt it that was the problem. It was because it... wasn't a new feeling, wasn't because of the reasons he fed himself. He had felt the same way in Arkham City when the madman had collapsed. Just suddenly... stopped. No witty remarks or morbid jokes. Just the lifeless, mutated body.

 

It was almost impossible to ignore the rather stark difference between the two deaths that night. The way they made him feel. Bruce however, was managing fine so far, even if his mind like to remind him otherwise at times, like now.

 

When Talia had died... he had felt... angry injustice. The need to avenge her, but when that vial had shattered... Bruce had felt the air, the ground, the lighting around him, shatter with it. The world condensed into a glass jar. He couldn't breathe. Had watched the madman scrape up pieces of glass and antidote in a vain attempt to save his own life. One he had thrown away so carelessly. It had been an accident. That's all that Bruce remembered thinking, over and over. He hadn't meant to... neither of them had meant to.

 

It was one true moment. When the Joker's shoulders slumped as the situation sunk in. Those green eyes rising slowly to meet his one last time, almost accusing him, but they both knew it was an accident. His body gave out beneath him, his eyes never closed. The moment when Bruce knew the Joker feared death like the rest of them. In that singular moment Batman knew the madman truly didn't want to die... and Bruce didn't want him to... it had been an accident. The vigilante walked away from the madman behind him, heading towards the raging flames, shaking away those phantoms.

 

“And there he goes, walking away,” the maniac sighed airily, propping his elbows, “You are going. The wrong. Way!” The Joker called after him from his relaxed position on the rooftop just as Batman neared the edge of the building. The madman rolled his eyes, finally sitting up to watch the vigilante. “Hey!” The Joker called to him, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. “Where exactly... do you think you are going? Rebirth from flames is just a myth you know! You're not Fall Out Boy! This isn't Pheonix!” The madman called to him skeptically. “Harry Potter isn't real!”

 

Bruce suddenly wondered what they let him do in Arkham, because the man sure as hell didn't have time to read books or listen to music while he was plotting Gotham's demise. Batman chose to ignore his own irritation at the maniacs references, stopping on the edge of the building to gaze down into the ruins. The Joker finally pushed himself up from the ground with a dramatic groan, “Ah come on! The cops are coming! You know they just. Love. My beautiful mug right?” The Joker asked gripping his own jaw and giving his face a shake. “The love is so great it fucking hurts!” He burst into laughter that died down when Batman didn't respond. “Literally. It hurts,” The Joker tacked on in a dead panned tone. He took a dramatically deep breath when the vigilante continued to ignore him, too engrossed in searching the area to pay him much mind. That and Bruce was pissed at him, but he was trying to ignore that issue. “Seriously. You know those kids!” The Joker insisted, walking towards the Dark Knight. “With the shiny toys – ” he brought his hands into the air like he was holding something, “and the trigger fingers of a cocaine addicted whore?!” The Joker suggested shooting invisible guns into the air with a twirl, missing his jacket for a brief moment as he leisurely made his way towards the vigilante. “Real twitchy. Especially around me.” The madman grinned, approaching Bruce.

 

Batman finally spotted something and he turned his attention back to the criminal mastermind behind him. He pivoted on the edge of the building, the tip of his cape barely grazing the surface of the madman's face, forcing the maniac to turn his head away for a brief moment, not that he noticed or cared. “Come on! Let's blow this fry fest.” The Joker grinned finally reaching the vigilante. Batman was getting tired of how familiar the madman was getting with him. So he stood on the very edge of a building, waiting.

 

The madman casually reached a hand out, aiming to grab Batman's bracer encased wrist. Bruce couldn't keep himself from sending the madman a superior quirk of his lips as he took a decisive step backwards. Time seemed to slow down as that hand came closer, but Bruce' stayed just out of his reach. The man's fingertips barely brushing his Kevlar, and suddenly Batman was gone, falling backward into the fiery hell below. His billowing cape flowing around him. Bruce enjoyed how the smile on the madman's face slowly fell as he plummeted. The Joker's heart fell with the vigilante disappearing out of sight.

 

Silence reigned for several long seconds, the madman's hand tightened on that nothingness, his nails digging into his skin at the message Bruce just sent him. “I deserved that,” The madman quietly admitted to himself cracking his neck while drawing back a clenched fist. Batman. Always out of his reach. The Joker chuckled at Bruce's irony, moving forward to peer over the edge. “Good one Bats!” The maniac called down to him and Batman ignored the man once again, focusing on keeping his cape raised, blocking the flickering flames, their heat slapping against him. The Joker huffed a sigh of annoyance, throwing his legs over the edge, his hair floating wildly in the waves of hot air. He rested his elbows on his thighs, placing his chin on one hand. “You know Bats,” The madman shouted down to him, the light from the fire flickering across his features, contorting his body, “every dance had an end.” Bruce paused in his trek turning his head towards the criminal, he gazed up at the man for a full ten seconds. The Joker raised an eyebrow in return, curious why the vigilante was simply looking at him with such a blank face.

 

“Do... you even know what that means?” Batman countered watching the maniac's reaction closely. The Joker's brows furrowed for a long moment, before breaking eye contact. He sucked in his bottom lip, teeth pressuring the ruby skin for several seconds. Until finally he turned his attention towards the approaching police cars, and Bruce smirked, turning back to the wreckage. It was simple really, they didn't know when the dance would end, but they did know how. One of them would be dead, and even then... Bruce wasn't sure it would be over.

 

Batman ignored that thought as he reached his destination. A few shipping containers had blasted from the building, but this one was the farthest away, lodged firmly into the side of the building he had just dropped from. Batman stalked over to it, ripping the door open... only to find nothing. The vigilante gritted his teeth, moving to the next crate. His glove steamed as he grabbed the handle and he hissed at the pain while he tore it open as well. Still nothing. If the containers were this hot. Bruce bowed his head, his jaw flexing, his grip bending the heated metal handle.

 

Batman slammed the door shut, Harley would pay. There was no way those men had survived. No way he could have saved them. The Joker's lips parted as he took in Batman's tense shoulders, he knew that stance well.

 

“You can't save everyone Bats.” The Joker softly called down to him, his voice barely heard over the raging fire. The Dark Knight pivoted, unlatching his grappling gun from his utility belt. He was on the roof in seconds, walking purposefully past the madman, his cape billowing behind him. The Joker turned, scrambling to follow him. Bruce stalked towards those flashing lights, ignoring the gray smudges across his Kevlar, and the sweat beading on his exposed face, his skin feeling sticky under his suit. The insulation could only do so much near those flames.

 

“Barbara.” Bruce stated, opening his communication line.

 

“Finally! I was worried, but I heard you... um talking. So...” The girl answered immediately, sounding decidedly better than before, even a little excited, before she trailed off awkwardly. Bruce glossed over that detail, getting to the point instead.

 

“Tell the fire trucks to start on the south side. There's a crate of men inside, if they hurry – .”

 

“Bruce.” Barbara interrupted him pity in her voice. Batman gritted his teeth, he knew that tone. He wasn't going to like this.

 

“Dispatch didn't send any fire trucks. It's in Arkham City remains, they didn't want to waste the manpower. They're razing the place anyway.” She informed him, her excitement from before completely dissipated. Bruce closed his eyes, wishing there was a wall somewhere near him he could pound.

 

“Thanks Barbara.” Batman muttered back, turning to stare at the blaze behind him. The Joker stood silently beside him.

 

“Do you want me to – .” She started, but Bruce cut her off.

 

“No. It's too late.” The vigilante hissed, ending the call.

 

“Oh ho ho. I know what that look is.” The madman whispered, shrinking away from the Dark Knight. Batman ignored him, zeroing in on the flashing lights below.

 

“Stay here.” Batman growled out, prowling to the edge of the building he took in the two police cars parking on the street. Four cops leisurely got out of their cars, one giving the punch line to the end of a joke, while the others laughed. Bruce gritted his teeth and dropped down, landing directly behind one of the cops. The other three gasped in fear, scambling to get their guns out of the holsters on their hips. Batman ignored them, flipping the closest one around and pressing him against the edge of the car, Bruce's forearm against his firmly against his esophagus.

 

“Why didn't they send the GCFD?” The Dark Knight demanded darkly, increasing the pressure a little.

 

“Let him go man!” The cop's partner asked, his gun a little unsteady, his eye wide, skin pale, Bruce glared.

 

“It's cool, Jordan.” The cop insisted his Adam's apple moving against Bruce's forearm as he swallowed, “Half this place is going to be torn down anyway, the city didn't want to waste the resources.”

 

“And if there were people inside?” Batman snarled angrily, but still loosened his hold a little.

 

“That's what we're here for. We were already nearby, thought we'd check it out instead of letting it just burn.” The cop explained as Bruce backed away from him.

 

“There were men inside.” Batman growled out, and one of the men ducked into the car, already calling for the fire department before Bruce could tell them it was too late. It was good to see his work with the GCPD wasn't for nothing. Every year there seemed to be less corruption in their ranks.

 

“Then we'll handle it.” The cop stated looking like he dismissed Batman, Bruce bit back a growl of irritation.

 

“What's your name?” Batman asked, leveling the man with a hard gaze.

 

“Leo, Leo Cal – .” Started to answer only to be cut off.

 

“Can we leave now butter-cup?! I'm going batty up here!” The Joker's voice suddenly fell over them followed by his manical laughter. Bruce resisted the urge to flinch. All the guns in the area immediately trained their sights on the most wanted man in Gotham. Batman thought the maniac was only suicidal once a night. Shows what he knew, or maybe what he hoped. He didn't want to deal with this crap.

 

“Is that the Joker?” The cop asked, he seemed to be the leader of the group. He was tall, black male, fit, intelligent eyes, pressed against a car. Bruce would have to look him up later, keep tabs on him. Seemed like a solid man. Batman turned his head to take in the madman who sat on the edge of the building again, his feet dangling over the edge, green boots joyfully tapping against the wall. His lean figure easily discernable in the tight black and gray under armor, his grin however was the same despite the lack of makeup. Leo scoffed and opened his mouth, “I almost didn't recognize you withou – .” Bruce swiftly jerked the man forward and slammed him back against the car, forcing the air out of his lungs in a painful cough.

 

“Don't.” Batman suggested, releasing the cop who fell into a small coughing fit rubbing his chest.

 

“I'm sorry, what was that doll face?” The Joker called down to the man, his voice edged with venom. Leo sent him an equally dark glare. Cops, Bruce scoffed in his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Suicides abound.

 

“Let me know when the precinct can actually handle him.” The Dark Knight pointed out in his usual monotone growl, turning away from the men. Now. They were dismissed.

 

“Oh, we can handle him.” The man assured him, apparently having recovered enough to send the Joker a challenging look. It was almost comforting to know the Joker wasn't the only one with suicidal tendencies, or maybe it was just recklessness.

 

“I doubt that.” Batman replied blandly, glancing up at the maniac. They needed to get going, there wasn't much moonlight left, and the firefighters would be there soon.

 

“Or we could just kill him right now.” A cop from the other car retorted, and the Dark Knight froze mid step. The Joker catcalled, slapping his thigh.

 

“Oh ho! You hear that Batsy? He does have a point, now doesn't he? They could just kill me!” The Joker exclaimed throwing his arms out, “Right here! Right now! Sounds like a solid plan to me.” Then he paused for a moment, leaning forward to rest his head on a closed fist, leveling Bruce with a quirked eyebrow, “What do ya say love? Sound like a to. Die. For plan?”

 

“No.” Batman scowled, stealthily unhooking his grappling gun as the men started to get twitchy.

 

“Awww he does care.” The madman giggled rocking backwards before lifting his hands to slick back his hair, blowing Bruce a kiss. Then he dropped his hands to the roof behind him, leaning leisurely back on them.

 

“How many bullets do you think it would take?” The bald man's partner asked curiously.

 

“Does it matter?” The lead cop's partner tacked on. Bruce's shoulders tensed as he turned around to watch the policemen carefully. He wouldn't be able to get to the madman in time if one of them decided to shoot. Thankfully something shifted in the fire, a large crash echoing down the street. The men jerked their heads toward the sound and Batman took the opportunity to zip up the building. He caught the madman around the waist hauling him away from the edge and out of sight in one smooth graceful motion.

 

“There you are beautiful!” The Joker cackled as he was manhandled out of sight. Bruce growled at the noise, he hated when people knew where he disappeared to. It was always so satisfying when –

 

“Where'd they go?!” One of the men shouted in confusion.

 

“How does he do that? It wasn't even a second.” Another one chimed in, maybe he would get the shocked satisfaction of his disappearing skills after all.

 

“Magic boys,” The lead cop chuckled, “What's the ETA on that firetruck?” Bruce activated the Batwing, chucking a giggling Joker over his shoulder, afraid if he let him go again he would run back over to taunt the cops some more. The maniac simply hummed a tune, swishing his legs like a child, his boots tapping Batman's armored thighs.

 

“Does it matter? Anything in there is fried food.” The men laughed and Batman shushed the madman hanging over his shoulder with an impatient little bounce, knocking some air out of the man. The Joker giggled, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the giddy laughter.

 

“Yeah, why don't you just suck his dick next time.” The men laughed again and the maniac quieting down a little so he could listen in as well. Erratic giggles breaking through every once in awhile, his abs vibrating with the action, tensing over Bruce's shoulder.

 

“I wasn't the one who jumped on the radio like a good little soldier. Seriously though. Batman isn't someone you want to fuck with.” Leo barked at them following the sound of a car door slamming.

 

“Why? He's just some dude in a suit.” Someone said, and the Joker giggled at their naivety, muttering something about showing them a suit.

 

“Yeah? With some high tech gear, and anger issues. Where's your bullet proof armor?” Leo scoffed and suddenly the rest of the cops shouted out in surprise. A thick silence fell.

 

“Hey man! Watch where you're pointing that thing!” The previous cop exclaimed.

 

“Just making a point.” Leo insisted, but it seemed he put the gun away, since no one insisted otherwise.

 

“Is this what you do?” The Joker whispered to Batman, who opted to ignore him.

 

“If I had money I'd have a bulletproof suit too.” The cop grumbled defiantly.

 

“I'll have to tell my me – .” Shut up, Bruce thought, tossing the Joker up again. The maniac's stomach hit Batman's shoulder knocking some of the air out of the him before he could finish his sentence.

 

“One, you don't, and – .” Leo replied to the idiot.

 

“Rude.” The Joker coughed and Batman narrowed his eyes in irritation, he had heard enough already, and his little tag along was already getting antsy. He raised his grappling gun and waited a few seconds for the little light to flash on his gauntlet.

 

“ – two, what fighting techniques are you tra – .” The Dark knight pulled the trigger, and seconds later the pair were airborne, zipping away from the scene. The Joker shouted in glee after a few seconds, obviously knowing it was going to happen at some point and they both knew the maniac wasn't actually afraid of heights. The madman had plummetted to his could be death plenty of times. Bruce pulled the trigger on his grappling gun, forcing them to go faster. They shot above the Batwing, the roof of the vehicle sliding open as they neared. The snow floated around them for a moment as gravity kicked in, inertia switching directions. Batman released the Joker a few feet above the cockpit as they arched over it, letting him fall haphazardly into his chair. The vigilante easily snagged the edge of the cockpit as he continued to fall, releasing the grappling hook. It zipped back to him and he placed it back into his belt, the wind whipping around him. The Joker scrambled around trying to get himself situated before Bruce cut his leg off closing the cockpit. Batman vaulted gracefully into his own seat, hitting several buttons as he leaned back. The top started to close while the vehicle was rerouted to their new destination.

 

“Always so flashy!” The Joker snickered jerking his hand back into the aircraft just before the compartment could crush it, “And you call me dramatic.” The madman muttered to himself pressing some more buttons like something could have possibly changed from the last time they had been here. “You knoooow,” The Joker huffed, running his hands through his hair, getting it out of his face, “It would be nice if you warned a man. I'd like to know when to bring a comb, and hold on for dear life! As it were.” The maniac chuckled, giving up on flattening his green curls. Bruce resisted rolling his eyes as his lips thinned, like the madman actually gave a shit about his hair. It was green. Fucking green.

 

“When I see one I'll let him know.” The vigilante replied almost robotically, quickly scanning the reports that had come into the station while he was taking care of the Joker problem. The real Joker rolled his eyes dramatically leaving his seat to draping himself over the back of Bruce's own.

 

“Isn't that getting a little old?” The madman asked. Irritated, Bruce brought a hand up to push the maniac's face out of his personal bubble and back into his seat. To no avail, however, but that didn't stop Batman from trying.

 

“Just sit down and shut up.” Batman growled, there had been two robberies while he was cleaning up this mess. Three civilians and a cop were in the hospital. If he hadn't of been stuck with this insane lunatic he would of been in and out of there in time to help them. The maniac ignored his plight and simply spoke into the gloved hand, completely ignoring Batman's irritation at him.

 

“You've used it before.” Came the madman's muffled reply. Bruce finally got his space when the maniac decided breathing was kind of essential and twisted his face away from Batman's palm. The vigilante retracted his hand and the Joker sat back to impatiently kick his chair a few times, humming a little tune that Batman was sure he had heard somewhere. Bruce resisted the urge to grind his teeth, why did the Joker need so much fucking attention?

 

“Stop. Kicking. My chair.” Batman growled out, reaching the point where he felt like ejecting the madman from the flying vehicle. Which he'd never do in reality, but it helped to imagine.

 

“See. That. That is getting old too. You need something new, something fresh! Let's try this again.” The Joker insisted, leaning over Batman's chair again. Bruce turned his head away from the madman instead of taking the bait, attempting to pull up entirely too old schematics of the convent. Bruce closed them just as quickly as he had opened them, weren't going to be of much use.

 

“How about, you shut up, and sit down?” The Dark Knight asked with feigned politeness, his anger at the useless information and his inability to stop all the crime in the city seeping through.

 

“Seriously. It's like a broken record! Ooooold! We need new Bats, new! It's not a hard concept.” The madman pressed in exasperation, leaning even further over Bruce's seat. Bruce glanced up at and could see the maniac staring at him in the windshield's reflection.

 

“I'm old. Get over it.” Bruce shot back locking eyes with the man. The Joker took a sharp breath of devastation, as if he had just spoken sacrilege. There was a long and, on Batman's side, pleasant pause that didn't last nearly long enough for his taste. Then the madman let out a small scoff, his hands shifting on the chair, followed by a deep reverberating chuckle of amusement. Bruce's annoyance immediately spiked, how did the man find everything so fucking funny? Especially how old they were getting.

 

The Joker leaned further forward. One hand suddenly sliding, firmly, down the vigilante's chest plate. Slipping slowly, sensually, over his armor. His jagged yet silky skin gliding gracefully against Batman's jawline. Bruce's skin seared with heat as the maniac's skin pressed lovingly against him. Batman's lips parted unconsciously at the unexpected sensation. His eyes immediately drawn to their reflection in the windshield, and he gritted his teeth at the sight. The Joker's amused attention solely on him, his pale skin contrast beautifully against his dark suit, red lips parting, half lidded lashes dark against his skin.

 

“You don't look old.” The madman whispered letting his cheek slide against Bruce's own as he turned his head, those ruby lips finally brushing against Batman's skin. Bruce swallowed tearing his eyes away from the reflection to snatch that searing hand away from his chest. The still touch lingered under his suit, despite the effort. The Dark Knight took in a deep breath, narrowing his eyes at the man's reflection. Bruce slowly turned to face the maniac and paused, lips inches away from the madman's. Those green eyes danced with the light from the console. Their breath mingling for a long moment, and the vigilante could practically feel the anticipation coming off the man.

 

“If you do that again, I'll break your hand.” Batman whispered harshly to him, but the Joker simply gave him a cheshire grin, moving forward to close the distance between them. Bruce instantly snapped his head around, denying the madman another stolen kiss. “And your face.” He tacked on in irritation as the maniac huffed in disappointment, but it only took a moment before his grin returned. The Joker bit his bottom lip temptingly, and Batman turned his attention back to the console ready to actually make good on ignoring the man. The madman wouldn't accept that, and he leaned back in. His lips brushing the cowl where Bruce's ear would be. He remained there for a long moment, long enough that Bruce felt like he could feel the man's hot breath against his skin despite the layer of protection, before the maniac finally spoke.

 

“Then do it.” He whispered quietly, forcing Batman to strain to hear him, despite the man being so close. “break me...” The Joker tilted his head nudging his nose against the cowl. “Please.” The Joker barely exhaled, slowly creeping closer over the chair. Batman swallowed hard and gritted his teeth, his hands clenching in an attempt to stop his body's reaction to those words, trying hard to lock down his body's desire to give the Joker just what he asked for. How had it gotten so easy for the maniac to fuck with his thoughts? Hell, his body? Bruce knew his suit was temperature regulated, yet the madman's touch still heated his skin. It didn't make sense. It was fucking annoying. Batman needed to get this little visit over with and get some time alone, away from the man. He needed to reset, needed recharge his defenses, fortify his mental walls. He needed to not do this, whatever this was. Not think about it. Any of it. He needed to just, not listen, feel... smell. Batman turned his head away from the man.

 

The Joker let those words sink in, then started chuckling as he took in all the minor changes in the man's demeanor. The madman sat back in his chair, letting his laughter take over. When Bruce finally had a come back it was too late, it had taken him too long to process. The laughter trailed off, and for half a minute there was silence. It was the longest silence Batman had heard from the creep. “You knooow. It was for the best, right? Necessary. A necessary evil as it were. For the greater good. If you'd prefer some Harry Potter references. You've read it right?” The Joker sighed when Bruce didn't answer... because Batman was extremely confused what they were talking about. “Stop being mad at me Bats.” The Joker pleaded placing his chin on Bruce's chair, and biting his lip. “Normal people can't live like I do, can't be me. One look in this brain and woo, where's that rabbit going? I mean, look at Harley. She used to be normal. Smart. Now she's a fucking mess with homicidal tendencies.” The madman insisted with a giggle, running his hands along the edges of Batman's seat.

 

“Because you're a monster.” The Dark Knight scowled, they were only four minutes away. Just four more minutes before something else could occupy the man's attention. The Joker huffed out a laugh, one hand coming up to trail longingly down Bruce's bicep.

 

“I could be your monster.” The Joker suggested lightly, and Bruce resisted the urge to elbow the maniac in the face.

 

“I have enough monsters in my life. I definitely don't need you.” Batman barked back, watching the time on the virtual screen tick down. Three minutes and forty seven seconds. The Joker sighed, tilting his head on the seat, and retracting his hand, Bruce watched a scowl grace his features through the reflection of the Batwing's windshield.

 

“He was a monster too you know.” The Joker's vivid green eyes snapped up to meet his in the reflection, “He wasn't born that way, Bats. He was already breaking. Cracking at the seams like so many do in the face of madness. He wasn't like us!” The madman stressed, lifting his head off the seat, but never breaking eye contact. “It would have slowly devoured him from the inside out. One humane chunk at a time.” There was a lengthy pause, and Bruce already knew what was going to fall next from those lips.

 

He knew because he could see his thoughts mirrored in the madman's eyes. “You know. You know what that feels like.” The Joker whispered, and Bruce broke eye contact. “The way it claws and tears at your chest,”

 

Bruce had never been crazy like this madman.

 

“burns from the inside, like your veins are on fire. Consuming your every waking thought,”

 

Had never lost his way. Never succumbed to that darkness.

 

“the way it forces your breath from you, fills you with the need, the desire, to do something.” The Joker paused and closed his eyes for a moment, reminiscing. “Anything. About it,”

 

But the madman was describing exactly how he had felt.

 

“That insatiable need to fill the void, to scratch that ever. Insistent. Itch.”

 

Before he had decided to become Batman.

 

“Because we need to know, we need to know what it feels like Bats, what it... What it tastes like, smells like, we need to hear the sounds. See the bl –”

 

“Shut up.” Bruce, muttered, two more minutes, fucking two more fucking minutes. Just ignore his voice, his words, ignore how it all makes sense, because it can't make sense. Insanity doesn't make sense.

 

“No. No. No. See.We need to feel alive, Bats.” Bruce hadn't noticed how close the madman had gotten, until he realized how quiet the maniac was actually speaking. “Because nothing else works.” The madman stated, and Batman stared hard at those ticking numbers, ignoring how his heart was beating faster than before. He could feel the shadows, the gentle whispers, of that old consuming need. The one that was only satisfied when he had started breaking bones and knocking out criminals. Only satisfied when he had become Batman. Become Justice. Become something more than human. The Joker tilted his head.

 

“Do you feel alive, Bruce?” The Joker asked suddenly, sincerely, and Batman turned to look at him, their faces inches away. Yes... but only in the suit, Bruce thought, tearing his eyes from the man's own drowning green ones.

 

“Why do you never shut up?” The vigilante asked after a few seconds, locking it down, shoving it, all of it away. Just as he had trained to do all those years ago. He was getting rusty, then again, he was never very good at it. The Joker pursed his lips in annoyance as he was shut out. “We could have saved him. I could have saved him... What's the best way into the underground hideout?” Batman asked, rather blatantly changing the subject, they only had thirty seconds until they made it to their destination. The Joker leaned back a little, biting his bottom lip, and staring silently at Bruce.

 

“Progress.” The Joker muttered quietly, falling back into his chair. “There are a lot of entrances and exits, it's why I chose the place. Best way in is through the front, but not the front. If you know what I mean.”

 

“The front?” Batman asked, needing clarification, the front could be anywhere on the building.

 

“Is there a parrot in here or do you just like hearing me talk?” The Joker asked sweetly leaning forward and resting his elbow on the back of Bruce's chair, his chin in his hand. The Batwing came to a sudden stop above the convent, the building a simple dot below them. The madman's elbow slipped off the seat and he fumbled to stop his face from smashing into the leather. Batman smirked, zooming in on the building below them. The convent appeared to have some pretty high walls around it, the largest building on the property was a rectangle with a courtyard in the center, a large steepled building at one end. Bruce assumed that was were they convened for mass or whatever nuns did these days. He was never one for religion. The madman scowled when he finally recovered leaning further over his seat to stare at the virtual screen.

 

“How do we get in?” Batman asked again, surprisingly patient for this time of night, and this kind of company. Bruce could see the madman's jaw tense in the windshield.

 

“Okay, Tarzan. Let me spell it out for you.” The Joker said unnecessarily slow. “The convent. And all it's surreptitiously naughty nuns. Don't actually know we're there. How fancy is that? A secret hide out that's... Wait for it... A secret.” The Joker gestured towards the horizon like there was actually something awe inspiring to see. He took a deep breath turning back to Batman with an annoyed expression, his voice a little dark. “This was supposed to be a safe house. Not a fucking base of operations. It's supposed to stay hidden, because it is hidden!” The madman snarled, then took a deep calming breath. “So much for that jack in the box.” The Joker hissed, angrily throwing himself back into his chair. The maniac pouted for a moment before finally continuing and Bruce gritted his teeth, he didn't ask for a novel. “It quite literally has zippo security in the convent. But most of the other entrances do. So the best solution is probably the hidden entrance in the chapel. It's under the seat in one of the confessionals. I'm not really sure which one, but who cares, really? We'll figure it out eventually.” The madman finally finished, tugging at a lock of his hair as he stared out the window as if they had just decided where they would go eat for the night.

 

“And why should I trust you?” Bruce asked skeptically watching the maniac raise an eyebrow through the windshield. The Joker broke out into a venomous chuckle.

 

“Because Bats,” the Joker leaned forward again, resting his chin on his chair, “We both know,” The madman sent him a little smile, “I'm a vindictive little bitch.” Surprisingly that was good enough for Batman. Harley had shot him. He still had no idea how specifically it went down but it had happened, and the Joker always made sure people knew exactly who and what he is, but mostly, why they shouldn't fuck with him. Bruce had learned that the hard way and he's kept Tim as far away from the madman as possible. With that acceptance Batman placed his hand over the ejection button.

 

“Want to count down?” Bruce asked, knowing the maniac would be delighted to. The Joker nodded excitedly his eyes wide, and he sat back in his chair.

 

“Five!” The Joker shouted enthusiastically, “four, thr – .” Bruce hit the ejection button with a smirk. He ignored the maniac's indignant shout that was easily lost to the howling wind. Batman used the upward momentum of the chair's little ejection to hop into the air. The Joker clutched his seat with white knuckles, his mouth moving rapidly. Probably spewing complaints, but his words were lost to the wind. Batman landed on the edges of the cockpit as Joker's chair lifted in front of him. He threw himself forward and sideways, slapping a hand across the madman's mouth, while snaking an arm around his waist, taking the maniac with him as he fell out of the cockpit, plummeting to the ground. The madman's back was pressed against his chest. His hands in a death grip over Bruce's own. They were heading face first to the ground. Snow whipped swiftly past them, pushing them off course, the wind howling around them.

 

Bruce removed his right hand from the man's mouth and slipped it down, getting a firm grip on the maniac's left wrist. Batman slowly eased his hold on the maniac letting cold wind rush between them and then he let go. Let the air rip the madman away from him, the Joker flipped around his other hand immediately gripping Bruce's gloved hold on his wrist. Now that they were separated they evened out, spiraling through the air, but no longer out of control, the Joker holding on to Bruce's hand for dear life. Batman offered out his other hand to the Joker, his muscles tense, keeping the madman in front of him. With a welcoming smile across his normally stern lips and the madman simply stared at him with awe.

 

Batman was actually enjoying this. He was actually having fun right now... and Bruce was. He was having fun. Dick nor Tim would dive out of the Batwing with him. Hell they were reluctant to fly. Ever. Glide sure, somersault over buildings? Why not? But free fall thousands of feet? Not their prefered method of travel. The Joker finally grinned back at him, snatching the offered hand out of the air, tightening his grip on Batman's own wrist. For a brief second only holding on with one hand. Bruce watched the maniac throw his head back and laugh, simply enjoying the wind falling past him and Batman couldn't help but laugh as well.

 

This was one thing they had in common. The adrenaline. They were both junkies for the spike in blood pressure, heart rate, that chemical reaction. The Joker shifted his body weight and sent them into a rapid spiral, Batman easily losing track of the ground as they were ripped around. The wind suddenly thrusting them wildly through the sky. It was chaos and Bruce laughed as the snow sliced into what little skin he had exposed. Leave it to the Joker to make this more dangerous than it already was.

 

Bruce knew they were nearing the city line, he had placed them ridiculously high for a reason and it was coming to an end. Batman yanked the madman in against his chest and the Joker's arms curled around his neck, pulling his feet forward to wrap around Batman's legs. The Dark Knight released his hold on the madman to slowly release his cape, until he could level them out again. He released the entirety of his cape and they slowed down considerably, gliding smoothly through the air instead of falling. Batman angled them back towards the convent, while the Joker was still laughing. Bruce had to shush the Joker as they got closer, stifling his own chuckles, and the maniac shifted to stifle giggles. The vigilante landed gracefully on the shingled roof of the convent, gently placing the madman on the roof as the low level electricity left his cape, loosening the fabric.

 

“We,” The Joker laughed breathlessly, “Should do that again sometime.” He stated, his arms still around Bruce's neck. Batman smirked down at him, his arm still around his waist from the landing.

 

“Yeah? You like that?” The Dark Knight asked his voice deeper than it had been so far, when he wasn't playing Batman that is, watching the Joker's eyes sparkle with the excitement.

 

“Oh yeah.” The Joker replied sensually leaning into him. Batman suddenly jerked back from the maniac, the smile immediately dropping from his face. The realization of who and where he was catching up with him. The Joker stumbled a little on the slanted roof from the sudden change in support, and Bruce jumped forward again to steady him. He had a lot more experience with slippery sloped roofs then the maniac did. “Bats c – .” Batman slapped a hand over the madman's mouth, effectively silencing him.

 

“Shut up.” Bruce insisted, turning away from the man to slide silently down the roof, he stopped his descent with a single boot on the drain gutter, knowing exactly what angle to place it so the thing didn't snap off. He took in the area below them, the frozen water fountain, dead shrubs and snow covered walkways. The skeletal trees barely surviving under winter's onslaught made for little cover in the middle of the courtyard. The Joker slid silently down the roof as well. Bruce immediately shooting a hand out to stop him just before he reached the gutter, one hand flat against his abdomen, knowing the idiot would send them both crashing off the roof. The gutter creaked ominously but didn't give in. Batman sent the madman a heavy glare slowly removing his hand from the man. Once Bruce was sure the maniac wouldn't slip to his death he activated his detective vision, ensuring there were no nuns hiding out in the shadows to scream bloody murder.

 

When he was certain no one was outside he dropped down, quietly landing on the ground below. Batman took one more look around before beckoning up the madman down to him. The Joker precariously made his way a few steps closer to the edge, and gave no warning before hopping carelessly off. The Dark Knight jerked forward and easily caught him in his arms. Bruce glared down at the man before swinging him gracefully onto the ground in one fluid motion. The Joker landed steadily and was walking away the next second. Presumably heading to wherever the entrance was. Batman followed him into the darkness of the covered walkways, sticking to the shadows out of habit. The madman had just gotten out of his reach when he caught a flash of orange, as the door ahead of them cracked open.

 

Bruce lunged forward snagging the madman around the waist and easily hauling them both into the shroud of darkness. He pressed the madman tight against his chest, his back hitting the wall as he flipped his cape around them. Hiding the pale maniac from an elderly woman who slowly stepped through the equally old doors. The Joker grinned and pressed closer to him, resting his head against his chest to tuck under Bruce's chin. The old nun seemed to have trouble pushing the large wooden door closed, and she stopped for a moment after it clicked shut to catch her breath. Bruce could feel the maniac's own warm breath across his chin. Soft skin suddenly glided across his own, until a cold nose was placed underneath his jaw, Bruce narrowed his eyes. Despite his annoyance, Batman pulled the madman even closer as the woman decided to start walking down the pathway. Bruce knew he shouldn't feel the warmth from the maniac but he could. It seeped slowly through his kevlar like poison. He kept the man covered in his cape with one arm, knowing his snowy skin would shine like a beacon in the darkness. Which was ironic, considering how chaotic and evil he was, and made Bruce wonder how he did it while in his usual garb. The Joker's arms suddenly slid up his back to clutch onto his shoulders while still keeping his hands under the cape. Batman moved them farther into the darkness, and out of her immediate path, his back pressed tight against the wall. The Joker moved his arms to accommodate the new position down his sides, but didn't relinquish his hold.

 

Then they waited in silence as the old woman took an eternity to hobble past them. Bruce sat scowling as she moved slower than a tortoise and the Joker just seemed to just pushed closer against him as the seconds ticked by. His skin scorching by the time the woman passed. He didn't move when the old nun passed them, instead waiting for her to slowly open the next door and make her way back inside. Once the door closed he released the Joker, who really didn't go far once he was free.

 

“I'm shocked you could shut up for so long.” The Dark Knight muttered after he was sure the old woman was out of hearing, brushing past the madman, who scoffed at his remark, his hand trailing down Batman's arm as he slipped away. At the last second the Joker's hand closed around Bruce's and he let the vigilante tug him along, because the Dark Knight sure as hell wasn't stopping for him. Batman quietly made his way to the door the nun had just exited, the direction the Joker had originally intended, tugging the Joker along behind him. At least like this he knew the maniac wouldn't slip off into the darkness.

 

“Do you know the kind of patience it takes waiting for you to show up to one of my 'surprises'?” The madman asked quietly his free hand making quotations in the air, slipping just as silently behind the vigilante.

 

“If by patience, you mean killing people off while you wait, then yeah, I guess you're the epitome of a saint.” Batman huffed back, raising a hand for silence one he reached the door. He could practically see the Joker's eyes narrow at his comment, but in the dark with the detective vision he really couldn't see anything. The madman had taken to glaring at the vigilante, but there was no real heat behind it. Then he shrugged his shoulders.

 

“Eh, guess you're right.” The Joker muttered and Bruce jerked around, taken back.

 

“What?” He asked turning his attention from the door he was ready to crack open, just so he could stare at the orange human shape that was the Joker.

 

“I said. I guess you're right. Would you like me to say it louder?” The Joker asked sarcastically, and Bruce had to actually think about it for a moment. It wasn't often that people admitted they were wrong, let alone the homicidal maniac that could bring Gotham to its knees with a few balloon animals and some manic laughter. Okay maybe he was giving the Joker a little too much credit, but he was painfully resourceful.

 

“No. I'm good.” Bruce finally replied turning back to the task at hand. He quietly slipped the door open, silently sliding between the smallest crack he could make that could fit his rather impressive size. He made sure to stay in the shadows, creeping out of the faint light cast against the wall and back into the darkness. There was movement farther in the room and Batman paused for a moment. Then he turned off his night vision. Then turned it back on as a shushed giggle echoed through the worship hall. Shaking his head he turned it back off, he didn't need to see that. Batman stuck his hand into what little light the city cast through the storm and into the room, beckoning the Joker to him. The madman slipped into the room like the graceful predator that he was, slinking over to Batman's side as silently as possible. Another muffled girlish giggle echoed through the room and the Joker slapped a hand to his mouth to silence his mirth as he crept towards him.

 

“Shhh, Sister Alden, she could come back.” Someone whispered rather obnoxiously loud in such a sound friendly room, and Batman took that as an opportunity to stealthily creep toward the chatty women, their voices still echoing through the hall.

 

“You know she takes forever during her rounds, we have plenty of time.” Another female voice answered as Batman crouched down running across a row of seats to the other side of the worship hall.

 

“You know this isn't right? Maybe we should – .” One of them chimed reluctantly, but was cut off.

 

“Don't. We've talked about this, besides,” There was a sudden moan and Bruce had to stop at the end of the pew, his eyes flickering towards the woman, “you know you like it.” Another moan followed and Batman shook his head. Nuns of all people. Stalking over he pressed himself up against one of the confessionals. But which one had the entrance? He shot a questioning look towards his counterpart who simply shrugged his shoulders in amusement. Bruce glared, he was no help. Batman took a deep breath, slipping past the first confessional door which was rather occupied at the moment, if the erotic moans were anything to go by, and into the next one. The thin mesh screen window separating the two sections of the confessional was fortunately closed at the moment.

 

Joker suddenly slipped in behind him, barely a second later, and Bruce realized he didn't know where exactly in the confessional this supposed secret entrance might be. Instead of searching around like an idiot, and getting them caught by wasting time, he took the madman by the hips and gracefully swapped their positions, squeezing past the maniac, their bodies pressed together for a brief moment. Poking his head out of the the door he scanned the room one more time, ignoring how the Joker grinned at him. The Joker smirking at the brief contact, getting the gist of what Batman wanted him to do, which unfortunately wasn't what he wanted to do at the moment. The maniac pouted, giving the man one last sultry leer, not willing to antagonize the vigilante just yet. He dutifully knelt down near the confessional's seat, feeling around for a moment. Batman continued to scan the room, hoping that this was the one they needed. If it wasn't... he needed to do something to get the girls out of the other confessional. The Joker stood up after a full minute and shrugged his shoulders.

 

Bruce wanted to groan in irritation, he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't blatantly point to him being there, besides a fire, that would get those two out of the confessional, and possibly burn the building down. He was pretty sure scaring them in any way would just make them remain in the cramped space. Making a run for an exit would be a foolish choice versus hiding, unless he bore down on them from above. Which would leave them screaming out of the room and across the convent in seconds. Not only would that alert the convent, but could possible alert Harley Quinn as well.

 

The Joker sat there watching the hard thinking face of the Bat for a long minute before he decided to put the man out of his misery. The madman tapped Batman on the shoulder, then almost shoved him out of his way as he squeezed past. Doing the squeezing as slowly as he could, enjoying the way Bruce glared down at him knowingly, the way the wall of hard muscle remained unmoving. The madman just placed his hands on the vigilante's chest, biting his lip as he slipped past.

 

Batman scowled at him as the maniac pretended it was harder than it looked, taking his sweet ass time. Bruce barely noticed the lack of disgust at the man's touch as he finally slipped by. The maniac waltzed over to the door leading into the interior of the worship hall. Once there the madman rolled his eyes, beckoning him over. Then mimed taking a gun off his waist and shooting it up at the ceiling. Batman followed his imaginary trajectory and realize he was pointing to the beams above them. The Dark Knight looked skeptical for a brief second before giving in and trudging over to the madman, who simply grinned at him in the thin veils of moonlight. The little light easily brightening his skin, his grin rather ominous in its beams.

 

Once Batman reached him, he took out his grappling hook and pointed it at the beam. He wanted to be prepared for any crazy shit the madman did. The Joker simply took his time, stretching his arms and back, making a show of cracking his neck. Batman gritted his teeth at the dramatics, his grip tightening on the grappling gun. Then The Joker opened his mouth and the vigilante wasn't sure if he should stop him or see where this was going.

 

“Sister Alden!” The Joker called out in a rather girly voice, but not so shrill it was absolutely fake, the upward lilt at the end sealing the deal, “I know you're in here. You two little whores. God will punish you. Oh he will punish you. But I'm not going to wait for his wrath on you sinners! I'm going to get mother superior you filth!” The madman finished, the girls having gone instantly silent. The Joker slapped a hand against his mouth to keep from giggling, his eyes dancing with mirth. After a split second, he turned around opened the door behind him and slammed it shut. The Dark Knight jumped instantly into motion, grabbing the Joker's hand and tugging him closer in one fluid pull. Once the madman was flush against him he shot out his grappling hook. The maniac biting the corner of his lip to keep quiet, pressing against the vigilante, as the projectile silently wrapped around the beam above.

 

A second later they were zipping quietly up to the rafters as one of the girls opened the door of the confessional. The rather disheveled looking nun glanced around the room before they both spilled out. The two girls rushing across the worship hall, dashing towards the back of the building. Bruce presumed to get into their beds before anyone could say they were actually out of them. He dropped them down quickly, shoving the Joker into the box as he slipped inside behind him. A second after landing Batman picked up footsteps from outside the main entrance. It was rather cramped as he shut the door, but it didn't seem to bother either of them. The door to the hall creaked open painfully loud.

 

“I swear. If you two are at it again.” A voice muttered, carrying across the room. Batman turned a demanding look to the madman who immediately slipped down. Bruce had to place both arms on either side of the box to keep himself from falling out of the closed door, as the madman's ass hit his thighs. It wasn't the first time Bruce was glad he wore a cup. When the Joker bumped into him, he looked away, switching detective vision back on to ignore the way the man brushed against him.

 

The madman made quick work in his search as the footsteps neared their booth. There was a quiet click that seemed to echo ominously through the entire hall. “Lauren, if you two are in there I will,” The Joker lifted the seat, revealing a rather small entrance in the floor, “Tell mother superior, and you can be sure she will not allow such,” The Joker quickly slipped into the small opening, and Batman squeezed in behind him, his shoulders scrapping on the edges. The vigilante turned around swiftly and was pulling the seat back down when the confessional door started to open. Bruce barely caught a glimpse of the nun through a thin slice or space as the seat finally clicked shut, “disgraceful union under the house of...” The nun trailed off, her voice muffled from the other side. There was a click and footsteps echoed away, followed by muttering. Batman turned around to get them moving before the madman could break their cover with his obnoxious opinions. Bruce found the Joker staring around them at nothing, completely unconcerned that he was practically blind. Batman slipped forward placing a gloved hand on his lower back. The Joker's spine shifted beneath his palm as he gently guided him forward a few steps. The madman walked forward without a word, only glancing back to see if he could catch sight of the vigilante. His eyes a bright orange in the detective vision. The Dark Knight stopped the Joker rather abruptly, and he leaned in, his lips brushing the madman's hair as he got close enough to whisper.

 

“There are stairs in front of you. Go slow.” He whispered as quietly as possible. The Joker nodded his head and Bruce didn't lean away, instead allowing the madman to leave his personal space. The Joker's hair brushing across his lips as the maniac took the first step down the stairs. Batman grabbed one of the madman's upper arms, making sure to keep a firm grip. Just in case the maniac slipped. They walked on in silence for a few long minutes, their progress rather slow in the beginning. Once they were far enough away from the entrance surprisingly Bruce was the one to break the silence. “Nice job.” The vigilante muttered and the madman stopped mid step. He spun around rather abruptly, his hand accidentally slapping against Batman's shoulder. The vigilante closer than the madman had expected, then he comically trailed his hand up to his face, slapping the kevlar until his hand landed on Bruce's forehead.

 

“Are you sick? Should we call this off. I think you're ill. We should turn around.” The Joker muttered sarcastically, pressing the back of his hand against batman's cowled forehead. Bruce smacked his hand away with a scowl, grabbing the man's waist the vigilante roughly forced the maniac around. “Woah! Oookay!” The Joker exclaimed in surprise as he was suddenly manhandled in the complete darkness. The Joker's foot slipped off a step as he fumbled to follow the sudden movement and he teetered forward. The only thing keeping him from tumbling to his death was the Dark Knight's almost bruising grip latched around his waist. Bruce quickly tugged him back, the madman falling into him instead dying in a heap of broken bones. One of Batman's arms sliding around his abdomen, ensuring he didn't slip away or fall back forward. There was silence for a few moments, then the Joker giggled, “Now that. Would be a way to go!” The madman laughed, finally getting his balance situated. He straightened up but Bruce didn't really let him go, his hands sliding back to hold his waist instead. “I can just see the headlines.” The madman snickered, “Joker, Terror of the City, death by stairs? They'd be so confused.” The Joker giggled, taking a step down, “God, you're so sensitive! You know that? Just one comment that your not feeling like yourself and your all puffed up.” The Joker chuckled in amusement obviously not seeing that as a fault.

 

“You're delusional.” Batman muttered putting a little pressure on the man's waist, urging him to keep moving forward. The madman took the hint, starting down the stairs again.

 

“Really? I'm delusional?” The Joker asked blandly, “You're broody and menacing. All the time. You most certainly have some anger issues. And so emotional for someone who pretends to be a stone gargoyle as a part time job. Which, I have to say, the patience you have sometimes. Really amazing. I mean you've sat on those things for like a full hour while my men stumble around looking for you!” The madman exclaimed in quiet amazement.

 

“You're loud, extremely showy, and half your jokes aren't amusing. The other half are okay.” Bruce muttered back sarcastically and the Joker snapped his head around at the sudden change in topic.

 

“What?” He asked in confusion, and Batman smirked.

 

“What? I thought we were listing each other's faults.” The Dark Knight stated, pressing him forward again. The man's muscles shifted beneath his hands as the man turned forward again.

 

“I did compliment you!” The Joker complained as he continued down the stairs, a pout hidden in the dark.

 

“So did I.” Bruce claimed in amusement, staring down the almost endless stairway, trying to find the bottom. His hands sliding farther up into a more comfortable position, on either side of the man's ribs.

 

“No you didn't. Unless loud and showy is a good thing.” The madman muttered, one hand going out to trail along the wall.

 

“I said half your jokes aren't bad. Isn't that a compliment?” Batman replied with a smirk, his attention turning to the small action, watching the man's orange hand slide across the cold stone.

 

“Wow. No wonder you're a billionaire with no girlfriend.” The Joker laughed, letting his other hand trail along the other wall.

 

“You don't know what I am.” Batman snapped back, trying to deny the Joker's description of his alter ego in case anyone could be listening. The Joker just laughed at his cautiousness and picked up his speed with confidence. Which Bruce just realized was pretty talented, considering the man couldn't see anything. Finally, The Dark Knight spotted a wooden door marking the end of this ridiculously long staircase. Once they reached the last step Bruce stopped the madman from reaching the landing, knowing he'd fall flat on his face if he tried to keep walking down non-existent stairs. He leaned in quickly, before the madman could protest and whispered in his ear again. “We're at the bottom,” He informed him, letting the maniac make one last step. Bruce swiftly slipped past him, moving to the door. He stared at it. Then flipping through his various vision settings, but he couldn't see anything. Nothing at all, and that made him nervous. There should be at least something, a rat. Anything really. Old heated pipes, cold spots. But there was just... nothing. The room was completely dark.

 

Batman glanced back at his... prisoner? He moved back towards the man who had the decency to stay quiet so far. The Dark Knight picked him up off the ground setting him higher up on the steps. The Joker's heat signature spiked as he manhandled him up the stairs. Bruce set him down, backing away, watching it return to normal with some fascination. The Joker just sat on the stairs probably grinning into the darkness as he waited almost patiently. Curiously Bruce placed a hand on the madman's shoulders his thumbs near the man's collarbone and his temperature rose again. The madman tilted his head up a little, exposing his neck invitingly and Bruce backed away. “Stay here.” He muttered, letting his hands fall off the man. This time the Joker's temperature didn't go down quite as fast, but Batman didn't stay around to see how long it would take. Instead he turned back to the task at hand, leaving the curiosity behind.

 

Batman crouched near the door and placing a hand on it he slowly cracked it open. A small dim sliver of light slipped into the passage illuminating the landing. Bruce glanced up, making sure that light didn't land on the madman. Fortunately, he couldn't even see the madman's shoes. The Dark Knight pushed it a little farther, taking a peek out. He was met with stone walls, and nothing more. Frowning he pushed it open a further, slipping out as quickly as possible he rushed towards the first pool of shadows and pressed himself against the wall. He turned to survey the room... which was suddenly filled with orange hulking figures. There was a click and he turned his head away shielding his eyes as light flooded the room. He switched his vision back to normal, but the damage had been done. The vigilante blinking rapidly to regain his vision.

 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here. If it isn't the little bat.” A man spoke, from behind the light, “Guess the boss was right.” There was several distinctive clicks and Bruce's stomach dropped a little. Damn, he thought, as guns he couldn't see where leveled onto him. Rough hands grabbed him and he was dragged out of the spotlight, he counted fourteen armed men. All armed, all aimed at him. He wasn't going anywhere soon. He was roughly shoved to the ground, his face smacking stone as his hands were zip tied behind his back. Once finished he was jerked violently up again. Then he was dragged past the group of men, out of the bare stone room he had entered, and into a makeshift living room. A group of men in flanking him on all sides. Bruce spotted a television in the corner that flickered in and out with the news, Bruce Wayne's face still plastered all over it. Did the Joker set him up? Batman wondered hollowly with a sinking feeling, he shouldn't have trusted him. Shouldn't have listened. He deserved to die if the madman had betrayed him because he was stupid enough to listen. The maniac was a prisoner after all. Nothing more than that. Nothing that warranted Bruce's trust, wonder, or curiosity. The men opened a door and streamed in, an indignant voice meeting their intrusion.

 

“What are you doing?!” A Joke-esque voice screeched from inside, but Bruce could easily tell the differences now. It was missing that dangerous undertone. The sultry notes. The danger. Batman was roughly thrown to the ground, Batman twisting to ensure his shoulder took most of the hit. The men shuffled apart to reveal a suited up Prince of Crime. His purple jacket impeccable. His hair slicked back. Harley sitting joyfully on his lap. Her thighs exposed as the man's hand slid up one. Bruce resisted a smirk, he was sure it was her dream come true. The real Joker only had one obsession. The fake Joker he stared at Batman with poorly hidden shock and panic. “What are you doing?! I told you to kill him on sight!” The fake exclaimed, shoving Harley out of his lap. She fell the floor with an indignant yelp. The men around them shuffled uncomfortably, as if they didn't know quite what to do with themselves, or Batman.

 

“But boss.” The man who had spoken earlier started to speak again, but was cut off by the false madman.

 

“There are no buts. Kill him and get it over with! You don't leave your enemies alive! This is why the city is falling apart!” The poser exclaimed as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. The men just shifted around him, looking towards one another in fear and confusion. Batman could practically see their thoughts. They weren't sure if this was a test or trick of some kind. How many times had the real Joker killed someone for really injuring Batman? How many times had be stated the Bat was to be brought in alive? The fake maniac huffed angrily, snatching a slick pistol from beside his throne like chair. “Fine! I'll do it. If you want something done right you have to do it yourself.” The copy muttered, placing the pistol against Bruce's forehead, and he started to pull the trigger. Bruce met his dark green eyes, with his own steel blue. This couldn't be it.

 

“Wait, puddin' don't you wanna, I don't know. Rub it in his face or somethin'?” Harley asked from her kneeling position on their chair, his hands sliding over the fake madman's back. She batted her large fake lashes at the equally fake maniac, and the man glared. The false Joker moved behind Batman, throwing his head back dramatically and rolling his eyes.

 

“I'm surrounded...” He muttered to himself, pressing the pistol painfully against the back of Batman's cowl, forcing his head to tilt forward instead.

 

“Now then.” The poser smirked, his finger tightening on the trigger again. Bruce closed his eyes... he had so much left to do... but nothing happened.

 

The fake suddenly sighed in irritation, kneeling down beside him. The gun slipping beneath Bruce's chin, as the false madman leaned in close. Batman gritted his jaw as the cold metal pressed into his skin, his head tilting up. Harley giddily slipped off the chair to sit in front of the vigilante, kneeling in front of the man like an innocent child. Bruce's defiant eyes snapped away, as the fake Joker pressed the gun harder into his soft underjaw. “You know, what could it hurt? How does it feel to finally lose Batman?” The false maniac asked, tilting his head with a satisfied grin. There was a inconspicuous click, that didn't come from the man beside him. Bruce's adrenaline spiked on instinct as a single quiet chuckle was heard over the shuffling of henchmen.

 

The world slowed down, a heavy breath falling from Batman's parted lips as another quiet click echoed through the room. Something disrupted the air, shattering the calm. Bruce's eyes shifted to the right just in time to see blood erupted from the side of a grunt's head. Batman immediately jerked backwards at the first sign of chaos. His back slamming hard into the ground, mere seconds before the fake Joker pulled the trigger in panic. The sound of the pistol's single shot drowned out by the rain of bullets. Bruce shut his eyes as blood spattered across the room in a horrific display of human mortality. Bodies jerked violently around him as they were shredded apart one hole at a time. It lasted a full twenty seconds before the gun clicked empty. The sound echoing through the now silent room as whoever held the gun pulled the empty trigger three more times. The clicks echoing through the room.

 

Batman opened his eyes as the useless machine gun was tossed to the floor, its metal body clattering against the stones. Someone choked on their own blood beside Bruce and he ripped his sight away from the dying man. The fake Joker snarled viciously, raising his gun towards the entrance with determination as he stood up. Bruce jerked forward to slam his shoulder into the man, his stomach muscles greatly protesting the sudden movement. Batman hit the fake Joker in the abdomen sending the bullet wild to join the rest of the holes in the wall. The fake maniac stumbled and Bruce fell to the floor. His side taking the full force of the hit, his hands still tied behind him.

 

There was another click of a gun's safety being removed and the imposter froze, his hands gradually raising in reluctant surrender. Bruce let out a breath of relief and rolled to his back, taking in the sight that was behind him. The real Joker stood in the doorway, with a casual smile on his scarred face. The Prince of Crime's eyes dancing with the promise of death and the exhilaration from the miniature masacre, a different machine gun, slick with it's owners blood, pointed steadily at his double. Batman shifted his weight, slipping his hands behind his ass and pulling his leg through, his wrists complaining as he twisted them in the zip tie to avoid dislocating his shoulders with the maneuver.

 

“Drop it.” The Joker demanded in amusement, shooting a single bullet into the cement in between the fake man's legs. The false maniac yelped, dropping the gun on principle. “Oops.” The real joker laughed and the look on the imposter's face informed them that dropping the gun had not been his intention. Batman easily kicked the gun away for good measure. Then slipped a knife out of his belt, skillfully slicing through the zip tie as the true madman stepped over the dead minions. “Hey there... Buttercup. Long time. No. See.” The madman growled venomously, grabbing a handful of the fake's blood matted hair. He painfully lifted him up off the ground, the copy cat's hands gripping the Joker's wrists in an effort to alleviate the pressure. The Joker tossed his gun aside carelessly to slam a fist into the man's face instead. The madman let the fake crash to the floor, the imposter's face smashing into the pooling blood and bodily fluids slowly seeping across the ground. Bruce's body shook as he stood up, staring in shock at the carnage around him. His adrenaline ebbing away to unearth the true horror of the scene, glassy eyes seemed to stare at him from every direction. The Joker scowled at how pathetic the false villain was. Harley simply sat in terror as she stared in shock at the two men, unsure of what to do with herself when the real Joker grinned.

 

“Puh... puddin?” She stuttered weakly, as the real Joker gracefully swooped down, sliding a large blade out a sheath on a dead body beside him. After all, it wasn't like the man was going to be needing it. The Joker's sharp green eyes snapped to her.

 

“Shut up.” The Joker whinned scowling at the girl, before leveling her with a cold empty stare, “I'll be dealing with you in a moment, sweetheart.” The Joker muttered darkly, the last endearment burning the girl with it's acidity. The girls pathetic whimpers jerked Bruce out of his stupor. The Dark Knight turning towards the pair, his boots squelching disgustingly in the blood and bodily fluids.

 

“What have you done?” Batman asked, his suit covered in more blood than he had ever encountered before.

 

“Aw, Bats. Baby.” The Joker cooed endearingly, dragging the fake madman up by the hair again, just as he recovered from the slam to the head. The fake man made a valiant attempt to scramble desperately for a gun, but the Joker simply crushed the man's hand with his boots, laughing as the fake crime lord cried out in agony. The Joker ground his boot down harder while tearing the man's head back, exposing his neck to the world with a sadistic grin.

 

“No!” Batman shouted desperately, launching himself forward... but it was too late. The Joker didn't even hesitate. He easily sliced the man's throat ear to ear, the pressure on the man's neck ripping the wound open like a second mouth. Blood poured from the opening as the man sputtered, his body instantly going into shock. Bruce, still in motion, tripped over a body at the sight, haphazardly crashing into the bloody mess, barely keeping his head from dropping into it the pool. The Joker tossed the dying man away like a piece of useless trash. The lifeless head thumping loudly against the ground, splashing a bit of blood near Bruce. Glassy dark green eyes stared sightlessly out at Batman, as the madman gracefully stepped over the body. Harley took the chance to squeal in horror as the Joker advanced towards her. Batman's heart sank further and he scrambled to get up, his hand slipping in the blood, almost sending him back down again. Once close enough Bruce's hand shot out latching onto the Joker's wrist, the vigilante still kneeling on the floor.

 

“That's enough.” Batman growled almost pleadingly and the Joker turned confused eyes to him, stopping dead in his tracks. His face so lost he looked like a child, that couldn't eat ice cream anymore, or couldn't go to the park and play with the other kids.

 

“Why?” The Joker questioned willfully, turning slowly towards him, “What is so wrong with this?” The madman asked throwing his arms out indicate the room. “With death?” The Joker frowned, letting his hands drop. “They're slime, Batsy.” The Joker laughed gesturing again, but not so extravagantly this time, before squaring his shoulders. “I only hire the lowest of the low. And now. They're gone.” The Joker stated, gazing down at the vigilante. “And you know what?” The Joker asked quietly, kneeling down in front of him, leveling him with a clear gaze. “They'll be more. Like cockroaches. They'll crawl back.” The Joker stood up with a grin throwing his arms open. “A never ending supply of scumbags! Just for me.” The Joker laughed darkly before sobering up instantaneously, “Because that's how the world works, Bats. When one tree falls another takes it place. It's nature. Evolution. Ecology. It's how we came to be.” Bruce just stared at him, hopelessly, and the madman leaned forward gently brushing Batman's lips with his own. Harley gasped in horror and Bruce jerked his head away when the man barely touched him.

 

“That's enough.” Batman scowled dangerously, getting up off the blood soaked floor. He released the madman, making his way over to the girl. She immediately scrambled back from him, but didn't make it very far, her back up against the wall, leaving bloody handprints across the splattered and shredded wall. “Come on Harley, it's over.” Batman growled, holding out a pair of handcuffs from his belt. The girl stared up at him in desperation and fear, but it didn't take her long to give in. She shakily stood up from the floor and turned around, allowing Bruce to handcuff her. He walked her out of the room, refusing to look down as he stepped over the dead bodies. He sat her gently down on the couch and she finally broke down crying. Her makeup smearing down her face, sobbing complete nonsense. He turned around to find the Joker where he had left him. The criminal standing among the broken bodies looking a little irritated, confused, and guilty, but mostly just lost.

 

“Let's go, you got what you came for” Batman growled at the man, then turned back to the girl. “Stay.” He demanded, turning turning away from both of them. The girl nodded her head, as the Dark Knight stormed away, making his way up the stairs off the side, not even bothering to see if the maniac was following him. It took a moment and Bruce was already half way up the steps before the Joker chased after him, jogging to catch up. Batman tried to take a deep breath, and suddenly felt claustrophobic. The world around his caving in, the walls rushing towards him. His hand shot out as he leaned against the wall for a moment, the world spinning. Taking shallow breaths he rushing up the rest of the steps, bursting out into a side alley a few streets down from the convent. He took in a deep breath of gasoline soaked streets mixed with city smog and almost regretted it. For a moment he had forgotten what Gotham smelled like. Thankfully he didn't feel like the walls were caving in on him anymore. He moved from the doorway, his gloved hand running along the wall as he took in their new location.

 

“Wait up.” The Joker called after him, finally reaching the top of the stairs. The Joker burst from the doorway, a smile on his face. Bruce glanced at him, and all he could do was stare as his emotions consumed him. He had forgotten, he had fucking forgotten. How could he have possibly forgotten how insane this man was? How homicidal, psychotic, unbalanced, brilliantly beau – Fuck this night. Batman let out yell of frustration, slamming his fist into the side of the building.

 

“Soooo, I got a little carried away.” The Joker muttered, “ You're still alive right? Besides we've been over this. The man would have gone crazy anyways, he would've been put down sooner or later. I swear next time – .” The Joker insisted leaning up against the wall inspecting his blood stained nails.

 

“Shut the fuck up!” Bruce shouted, slamming his fist into the wall again, letting the pain center him. “Next time? Just shut up. Do you even... can you even... Fuck!” Batman snarled and turned away from the man to stare down at his blood covered hands. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't function. Think. Breath. “Leave.” Bruce finally whispered after a long moment of watching the light glint off his crimson slicked gloves. His hands tightening into fists at the decision, hiding the evidence of death. It was madness. It was fucking stupid. But Arkham wasn't fit to hold the maniac, and neither was his bases of operation, not yet, and Bruce couldn't handle this anymore. Couldn't take another second of this tension. He felt like he was falling in a pool of darkness and the further he fell the more he couldn't find. The more of himself he lost... wasn't sure... about anything. Every time he felt like he had a hold again, felt like he had control, the Joker was there. To give him another push into the abyss. Right there. His laughter following along beside him until... until what? What was at the bottom? What was the end of this fucked up escapade? Bruce didn't want to know. There was a long silence between them and Batman almost wasn't sure if the man had actually listened to him or not.

 

“What?” The Joker finally asked with quiet desolation, taking a step towards the vigilante. Bruce swallowed hard at the tone. This was going to be a fight. Of course it was.

 

“I said leave.” He stated with resolution, only tilting his head towards the maniac, but still unable to look at the man, his back to him.

 

“You...” The Joker laughed nervously with a hint of fear, “Are you... are you insane? You want me to what? Just walk away?” The madman asked in indignation, taking another step towards the vigilante. There was another pause between them and when Bruce still hadn't replied the Joker ran his hands across the vigilante's shoulders. Batman immediately tensed under his touch, resisting the urge to punch the man until he stopped breathing. “After I... just... massacred an entire group of men you want me to just leave?! That doesn't even make sense!” The Joker insisted his hands falling, but the vigilante didn't turn back to him, didn't seem to care. “... I can't do that.” The Joker finally muttered steadily, darkly, and Bruce gritted his teeth. Why? The Joker couldn't just leave? The madman couldn't just walk away like Batman had offered? Why? Why the fuck not? Bruce spun around, gather a handful of the man's under armour and slamming the man into the brick wall. One arm pressed roughly over his windpipe, the other fisting the collar of his black under armour.

 

“Why?! Why the fuck not?! I'm setting you free! Just fucking go!” Batman shouted into his face and the Joker simply stared at him with wide eyes, watching the anger flare through Bruce's steely blue orbs. Then the madman's brows furrowed, a bitter smile creeping over his features.

 

“Free?” The Joker giggled harshly, staring up at the vigilante with pity. “Free? Bats, I... Madness... It can't be slapped into handcuffs. It's not a neat little box you can shove away. You can't keep it in a bottle. Lock it in a cell. Suppress it with those fucking chemicals. I've always been free.” The Joker whispered in venomous amusement, and Bruce leaned away with a scowl of disgust and they stared at eachother for another long period. Batman's eyes bouncing between the Joker's own brilliant green ones. Then suddenly Bruce's deep bitter laugh broke the silence, slowly shaking his head.

 

“But... you're not.” He hissed knowingly, pressing the Joker harder into the brick wall. The Joker's jaw flexed at Batman's suggestion, his hand coming up to grip Bruce's wrist, but Batman wasn't done. “It's just a stupid fucking game you play because you're bored. Poor fucking Jack, with nothing to do but slaughter people. No.” Bruce chuckled again, “No, you're not insane, you know exactly what you're doing and what the consequences are. But you...” Batman licked his lips, “You are a sociopath. So.” The previous amusement instantly gone from the Dark Knights demeanor to make way for his grim steely resolve. “What do you want from me?” Bruce asked quietly, because it was true, this entire ordeal was only because the Joker wanted to play along. He could have escaped at any time.

 

The madman didn't say anything, they simply sat there glaring at eachother for a ridiculously long time. Until finally the Joker let his gently hand fall from Bruce's wrist. Of all the times for the maniac to finally shut up, it was now. Batman's grip tightened, his lips curling further exposing teeth. “What do you want from me?!” He demanded more forcefully, pressing the Joker harder against the wall, but the madman still didn't say anything. Instead he simply sighed, closing his eyes, letting his head fall gently back against the brick wall. In a rather obvious sign of relaxation. His head tilted invitingly to the side, exposing a long line of bruised neck.

 

Bruce's lips parted as he suddenly realized. Suddenly understood why the Joker did that, and that it wasn't just to piss him off. No. The Joker did it all the time. He plotted, laughed, they fought and then the madman would give up, but he wasn't giving up... he was submitting. To Batman. Bruce couldn't resist the sudden realization and took the invitation, slipping a hand around the man's throat. He tightened his grip and took a step back, letting his other hand fall away from the Joker's chest. The maniac simply let it happen, if anything the pulse beneath his fingers speeding up. The vigilante held him at arm's length, pressed firmly against the brick. The Joker's heart racing under his pale heated skin.

 

Batman barked out a laughed at the audacity, the ridiculousness of it all, before gritting his teeth as it became a reality. He knew what the madman wanted, why he wouldn't leave. Would it be that simple, Bruce suddenly wondered, staring at the quiet male breathing beneath his grip. How easy would it be to just squeeze? Would it be so easy to end all this? Would he want to? Batman took a moment to admire the crimson smeared across his pale skin from his glove, his thumb sliding over the man's pulse. The Joker's lips parted, his body relaxed, like he was enjoying himself. Bruce stepped back in, his breath suddenly ghosting over the man's cheek.

 

“No. I know what you want.” Bruce breathed quietly against his skin, the Joker's eyes cracked open at the tone. “Because that's all you care about isn't it? Getting what you want? What you need? ” Batman chuckled darkly, tightening his grip. “Fine... fine. You can fucking have it.” Batman ground out, pulling back just far enough to see the utter confusion in the man's eyes. Bruce growled in irritation before crushing his lips painfully against the Joker's own. The madman grunted as his head slammed into the brick as the vigilante pressed against him. Batman's kevlar encased body sliding forward to pin the maniac against the wall. His hard muscles easily pressing him painfully into the bricks. It took the Joker a moment to react, and to Bruce's surprise he didn't reciprocate the kiss. Instead his hands rose to claw at the Dark Knight's grip on his throat, but Bruce was too angry to care, pressing hard into the man the more he struggled against him. The pressure between them making the kiss painful, their teeth pinching the sensitive skin. The Joker finally achieved some space with a gasp, he twisted his head away, ignoring how great Bruce's lips felt trailing over his scars. How the man's breath ghosted over the sensitive skin.

 

“Wait, Bats. This isn't – .” The Joker gritted his teeth as Batman scoffed, roughly grabbing his already hard cock through the skin tight underarmor, his mind going blank for a blissful moment as fire coursed through his veins. A gasp escaped his lips, his back arching a bit as Batman squeezed a little too tightly, making him shiver with the pain. Bruce chuckled darkly at the reaction, that was one way he could shut the maniac up. “Wait.” The Joker stuttered though the sensation, trying to push through the overwhelming need building inside him, his hands coming up to grab at Bruce's wrists, “Bats.” Batman ignored him, trailing a ghosted breath down the expanse of neck that the maniac unwittingly revealed during his gasped. Bruce started to stroked him through the thin clothing, a little amazed at how quickly the madman had hardened beneath his hands. The Joker's breathing instantly picked up, his body shivering beneath him.

 

“I thought this was what you wanted?” Bruce replied degradingly moving back up the man's cheek, secretly admiring how soft the skin was as he went. He paused for a second to watch the Joker's pupils expand as the madman lost his controlled breathing, as his thoughts slipped away. The madman's hands shifted to desperately clutch the vigilante's biceps as Batman's hand worked him. The madman bodily shivered as Batman ran his bottom lip along the pitted scars on his cheek, a sinful moan leaving his swollen lips. The maniac's grip suddenly tightened, eyes widening while snapping to Bruce as Batman's hand skillfully slipped into the under armour.

 

The Joker gasped again, letting out a long pleading whimper as Batman wrapped a gloved hand around his throbbing cock. The feel of his gloves against such sensitive skin sending Joker over the edge of coherent thought, and liquid pleasure through his body. Bruce pressed his thumb into base of his dick, into the main vein along the underside. He slowly made the first stroke up the heated member, forcing the blood along the shaft. The Joker cried out his back arching, his body shivering at the touch. The madman's knees instantly gave way as pleasure ripped through him. His head jerking back to hit the wall painfully. Batman's knee immediately shifted between his legs to keep the madman from collapsing onto the grime covered asphalt, a smirk of amusement on his lips.

 

The pain of the maniac hitting his head doing nothing to remove the blissful haze in his green orbs. The Dark Knight shifted his lips to hover over the Joker's own, catching the madman's every whimper and moan between his lips, but doing absolutely nothing to stifle them. Simply enjoying the raw need in his every pant, whimper, moan, and plead. Bruce has had countless sexual partners over his lifetime, some just as vocal as the Joker was right now, but none as authentic. As raw and heady, the Joker's desire obvious in the way his body shook, his breath hitched. Fuck, Bruce loved it. Loved the control he had. Batman slid his thumb over the slit of the maniac's heated cock, and the Joker's head snapped forward against his chest almost slamming their faces together with a silent scream, Bruce jerking to the side just in time. Batman laughed, licking his lips as the Joker huffed out another cry of pleasure.

 

“Is this what you wanted?” Batman asked, intending for his voice to sound angry, like this was a punishment, but it wasn't. It was deep and rich and betrayed how much he enjoyed this. The Joker somehow found the will power to lift his head, lust filled green eyes meeting Bruce's own dark steel ones. The look on his scarred face was one Bruce couldn't even describe. It held a need so deep it looked painful, a yearning, like Bruce was his lifeline, his oxygen, but it also held anger, stubbornness and defiance. Hate. It was complex just like the man, like their life. Like Bruce felt. He didn't like how the look made his heart pound. Batman twisted his hand sharply over the head of the Joker's weeping cock and the look instantly dissolved as the man moaned loudly falling back against the wall, his back arching. Bruce leaned forward once more, his lips brushing the man's ear. Batman parted his lips to speak, but the words caught in his throat.

 

“Bats. Please.” The Joker gasped beautifully as Bruce slid his thumb up the vein again and suddenly Batman didn't care. Bruce chuckled at the sound, a thrill coursing through him as he ran his thumb over the slit, smearing precum over the head.

 

“I bet I know how to make you scream.” Batman whispered almost breathlessly, and the Joker's own breath hitched, his body wracked with a shiver as the vigilante's deep voice slid down his spine. Bruce waited a few more strokes, watching the Joker pant beneath him, his usual manipulative gaze warped into mindless pleasure. Batman took pity and ran his lips along the man's neck until he felt the Joker's pulse racing beneath them. Then the Dark Knight kept his promise and the Joker cried out loudly, back arching violently, his body shaking beneath Bruce's hands as he bit down hard on the man's pulse. The Joker started thrusting wildly, his hands tearing at Batman's armor as he spilled across Bruce's gloved hand. His scream turning silent as Batman milked the last of his orgasm, the man's body tense and shaking. Bruce watched the man's eyes blur as the lids open, seeing nothing at all as the post orgasm endorphines coursed through him. His body and mind blind with pleasure still dancing across his nerve endings. Batman licked his lips, pulling his hand out of the man's pants. He stared down at the mess for a long moment before mechanically wiping the cum off onto the madman's already stained clothing. Bruce stepped stiffly away from him, and the Joker crumbled to the ground with a shocked gasp. One hand barely flying out in time to catch him. Batman took in his disheveled state and felt a little nauseous. Taking a deep breath he turned around walking away from the madman.

 

“Bats.” The Joker called to him still breathless, fear creeping into his voice. Bruce turned just enough to look at the man from over his shoulder, his eyes cold.

 

“You got what you wanted.” Batman replied darkly after a long moment of silence. He turned back and continued down the alleyway, pressing the button on his gauntlet to summon the Batwing.

 

“Wait! Bats! No.” The Joker called after him, trying to scramble to him feet, but his legs didn't seem to be listening to him. “Batsy! This isn't! Fuck. Wait!” The madman cried desperately as Batman ignored him. He shot his grappling hook into the air, disappearing out of sight without turning back to the maniac. The madman called after him again. Bruce didn't go all the way to the Batwing, however. Instead, he fell back down to the roof nearby, creeping over the ledge to gaze down at the man. His curiosity and confusion getting the better of him. It took the Joker a few more moments to actually move, clawing at the wall to prop himself up. The Joker stared furiously at the spot Batman had just disappeared. Then the maniac pressed his forehead into the bricks. After a long moment he slammed his forehead harshly into the wall, and Bruce flinched at the resounding crack that echoed down the alleyway.

 

“Fuck!” The Joker shouted in frustration. The madman stilled for a moment before his fist slammed into the wall, then a boot. Then the maniac was slamming against it with everything he had, another tortured yell falling from his lips. The madman stilled suddenly and after a few moments he stepped away, the palm of his hand still pressed against the wall holding his weight. The Joker finally took a deep breath, lifting his head up, blood streaming down his face. He smiled, raising his hands to smooth his hair back, his anger falling away to a cold calculating gaze that Batman only saw in glimpses. The Joker cracked his neck, mischievously eyeing the door down the to hideout. After a long moment the madman turned instead, making his way quietly out of the alleyway, slipping off into the heart of Gotham. Batman watched him go.

 

****************

 

Bruce wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there, before the hurricane known as his thoughts were jarringly interrupted.

 

“Batman?” Came the sudden and blaring questioning voice over the coms.

 

“Yeah?” Bruce answered a little reluctantly, suddenly realizing where he was, and that still he hadn't called the precinct to pickup Harley yet.

 

“You haven't check in for awhile. I just wanted to make sure you're okay.” Oracle stated, sounding a lot more lively than she had earlier that night. Bruce would be scared too if someone had trailed Bane around through his house without a leash. Not that he would ever be afraid of Bane, but the simply fact that he couldn't do anything about it would have caused some problems. Bruce knew Oracle wasn't actually afraid of the Joker, but it was hard to cope when the reason you're in a wheelchair was walking around nonchalantly and there was nothing you could do about it.

 

“Yeah I'm fine.” Batman replied, feeling guilty for yet another thing that night. He stood up from his crouched position, his leg protesting at the movement. Now that he had taken a chance to rest it was aching painfully.

 

“And the Joker?” The girl asked halfheartedly, and Bruce flinched.

 

“He's... alive.” Batman answered vaguely, staring off into the darkness of the alleyway. Suddenly the consequences of his actions came crashing down on him. He had just let a maniac loose on the city like it was nothing. He didn't even fucking put a tracker on him. He didn't even think about it. Fuck. What was he doing?

 

“Well that's... good I guess. Hey we've found something on the doctor, I'm sending you the info, I think we should leak it to the press. They'll put an A.P.B. out on her, and we could probably get a raid going on Arkham. Find out what they were really doing down there. The police should have the resources now that you've taken down the Jokers.” Barbra informed him, the tapping on her keyboard the only sound in the background. Bruce shook his head, even though he knew she couldn't see it.

 

“Not all of them.” He muttered, pulling up the information she just sent him.

 

“Batman. I'm sure it can wait until tomorrow. Whoever they are, they're just sitting in some apartment building, not blowing anything up. You need your rest.” She insisted, but Bruce ignored her.

 

“This should be enough to get a warrant on Arkham. Send it out. Keep me updated.” Batman stated, pulling up the location of the last tacker. Barbara sighed over the line.

 

“As usual. Hey where is the Joker I ha – ?” Oracle asked curiously and Bruce hung up the line. Batman took a deep breath. Even if he wanted to get the Joker back under his custody he'd have no way of finding him. When the madman decided to disappear he was gone until he felt like it. Sure Bruce could parade around in the streets until the maniac came to him, but he had better things to do. And to be honest. Bruce still needed some space. Batman could still smell the man, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant.

 

***************

 

It didn't take him long to get to the building. It was a pretty high class apartment complex in downtown Gotham. Bruce used a gadget to pick the lock to let himself in through the roof. He locked the door behind him. Last thing he needed was some suicidal idiot to find that door open. Then he'd have another death on his hands. Batman made his way down the hall and was surprised that he didn't need to go down a floor. A penthouse suite. Bruce slowed down as he neared his target, the door to the apartment already slightly ajar.

 

Batman cautiously crept towards the door, pressing himself against the wall to peer into the room. It was rather dark. The only light illuminating the area a was blue and purple from the club sign across the street that continuously flickered on and off. The Dark Knight switched on his detective vision peering around the apartment. One lone figure sat in the far room facing away from the door. Bruce kept an eye on him as he pushed the door open further, sliding silently into the room. He switched the night vision off, briefly taking in the area. He had entered a living room, the furniture covered in plastic. The artwork removed from the walls and hidden in sheets. Whoever lived in this apartment was either moving out or dead.

 

The Dark Knight continued through the room, through the spotless kitchen, boxes sitting taped up on the counter. Batman passed them as well, walking down another hallway. A bathroom and study on one side. He stopped at the last door that was on the left, a side table covered in plastic still pushed against the wall near the room. The door was open and Batman slipped in, reactivating his vision before hand to ensure the man hadn't moved. He hadn't. The male sat slouched in a straight backed chair facing the large balcony that was thrown open. The sound of Gotham's city life from below lofting through the air. Bruce slipped quietly into the room sliding through the shadows until he could catch a glimpse of the man in the chair. Batman froze in the darkness, coming face to face with himself. The man shifted after a long moment, raising a glass of wine to his sharp lips. Bruce's sharp lips.

 

“You know.” The man muttered after a while, letting his hand fall back to it's slacked position, some wine sloshing over the side and onto the expensive carpet. “I've always wanted to be handsome.”

 

**********************


End file.
